


AOA Vol 3: The Book of Dust

by Th3Alchemist



Series: An Opus Alchymicum [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Book of Dust, Book: The Amber Spyglass, Book: The Golden Compass, Book: The Secret Commonwealth, Book: The Subtle Knife, Canon Era, Canon Rewrite, Crossover, Daemon Feels, Daemon Touching, Dust (His Dark Materials), F/M, His Dark Materials Inspired, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Second Year, Lyra-Will Reunion, Not Canon Compliant - The Book of Dust, Post-His Dark Materials, Spoilers for Book 2: The Subtle Knife, Spoilers for Book 3: The Amber Spyglass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 95,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27269464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Th3Alchemist/pseuds/Th3Alchemist
Summary: Harry & Hermione begin their 2nd Year at Hogwarts. When new DADA teacher Gilderoy Lockhart starts a sinister dream-diary project, it sparks a spate of strange attacks against the students. With Hermione in the firing line, and Voldemort pulling the strings from afar, Harry must awaken his hidden dæmon, to save his sleeping princess ... before she is lost to him forever.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Lyra Belacqua
Series: An Opus Alchymicum [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818550
Comments: 54
Kudos: 63





	1. See You Next Tuesday

Not for the first time, a playful row had broken out between Harry and Hermione. As usual it was about money or, more specifically, whose turn it was to pay. For Harry - who was far wealthier than Hermione - this idea of _turns_ was nonsense, bordering on the insulting. It wasn't right, in his mind, that she should have to fork out for anything.

But Hermione was as implacable as a stubborn Hippogriff and insisted on paying her way.

"It _is_ my turn," Hermione insisted, as they weaved through the crowds on Westminster Bridge. "You paid last time."

"Ah, _yes_ , but I had a free pass, so I only had to pay for _one_ entry ticket," Harry reminded her.

Hermione frowned bitterly. "You only had a free pass because you're _Harry Potter_. And I'm sure the girl on the booth made that up anyway because she hopes to get into your good books. She's a Hogwarts Sixth Year, you know. I bet she's after something."

Harry laughed deeply. "I cant imagine what! I don't think you're right about that. In any case, I didn't hear you complaining last week. You enjoyed the Magical Antiquities Museum as much as I did."

"Well, yes, I did," Hermione replied in a haughty voice. "It was fascinating. But that still doesn't make it your turn to pay again."

"Okay, let's ask our _regular_ arbitrator," Harry quirked. "He _never_ forgets. Pan?"

Harry called up to the coal-black owl soaring just above their heads. It had become a common, if still bizarre, sight for the population of London to see the bespectacled, black-haired boy, his curly-haired companion, and the two animals that seemed to haunt them like demons. Luckily, London was full of such quirks and curiosities, and the attention of locals and tourists alike was guaranteed to be soon taken by some new distraction or other, assuming they'd detached from their own busy lives enough to notice in the first place.

Which was something Harry had come to love about the hustle and bustle of Muggle London, on these bi-weekly visits that Hermione made to him. People were pretty much so absorbed in their own days that they didn't notice a young witch and wizard wandering around among them.

Not even when Pantalaimon swooped down to land on Harry's outstretched wand - for touching Lyra's dæmon was strictly forbidden and out of the question, a respectful situation that Harry was painfully keen to observe. He may not have realised the taboo when he first met _Hermione's_ dæmon, but almost from their first meeting Harry was pointedly careful to keep his distance from Lyra's. As if by some sort of innate sense, Harry knew not to touch - almost as though it were akin to sticking his fingers right into the rawest, sorest parts of a gaping flesh wound.

It was the closest analogy Harry had yet been able to come up with.

But _talking_ to Pan was perfectly fine and comfortable. And the wily old owl was always a good source of wisdom - and he generally tended to take Harry's side in these little squabbles. Harry was glad of the flapping wings of the large bird, as his face was hot and dry in the afternoon sun. The blast of air was preferable to Harry's overriding instinct, which was to pitch himself over the bridge into the cool waters racing below.

"Pan, whose turn is it to pay?"

The dæmon turned his great amber eyes solemnly on Harry. "It isn't a case of whose _turn_ it is to pay, but who is _able."_

Harry looked quizzically at Pan, who returned his stare simply and plainly. Then Harry turned to Hermione, who was blushing with a sort of rueful shame, which made him shiver with the coldness of what he suddenly understood.

"Hermione?" Harry asked gently. "Are you ... having problems with money?"

It only occurred to Harry then that he didn't know if either Lyra or Mal actually _worked_. He had never heard Hermione say that they did. He felt terrible, then, for making such an issue about paying for things.

"I have money," Hermione offered, her voice half-sorrowful and half weak-cheeriness. It was as if she hoped Harry wasn't going to press the matter and would just let it go.

But as Hermione look out her little purple purse and dropped the half-a-dozen or so coins inside into Harry's hand, two things became very clear. The first was that he most definitely would _not_ be dropping the matter ... and the second was that Hermione could point blank forget about paying for _anything,_ probably for the next couple of years.

"Is this all you have?" Harry squawked desperately, his spirit crumbling inside him.

"It was all Lyra could spare," Hermione mumbled, fidgeting in her leather flats. "We have our school things to think of next week, don't forget. They don't come cheap, but with a bit of luck we'll be able to pick up some things second-hand."

"And how were you intending to pay for _new_ things?" Harry demanded firmly. "You'll need new robes at the very least. How did you get them last year?"

"Something called the _Hogwarts Hardship Fund_ ," Hermione confessed still using that tiny, pitiful voice, that Harry was starting to hate for the way it made his heart bleed. "It paid for the majority of my supplies and fees. I was very lucky that people here are so generous."

And Harry's heart stopped a second, as he remembered dropping coins into the collecting tin in Flourish and Blotts what seemed like a lifetime ago. Some of that money might have even helped Hermione attend school. It gave Harry a sparkling idea.

"Well, you aren't going to rely on that this year," he announced decisively. "When we get back to my parents, we'll talk about maybe sponsoring you or something. I'm not having you struggling for money, not when we have so much. And the brightest witch at Hogwarts using second-hand gear? Not if I have anything to do with it, Miss Granger."

"Please don't," Hermione begged apprehensively. "I don't want to seem like a charity case. Also, Lyra would be mortified if she knew I'd told you. You may not know it, but she's very proud. It would really hurt her feelings if she thought I'd asked you for a hand out."

Harry simply scoffed. "But you haven't. If you're so worried, I'll tell her myself, tell her I offered to sponsor you. I'll tell her that there is no shame in asking for help when you need it. We'll look at it as an investment. I need you, if we're to fulfil this destiny that your Dust has laid out for us. Who else should pay for you to be around me in that case ... if not _me?_ Besides, if you _are_ a charity, I can think of no worthier one I'd rather be a patron of!"

Hermione blushed shyly. "You're not going to take no for an answer on this, are you?"

"Well ... _no."_

Hermione bit her lip for a moment. Then she nodded almost imperceptibly. "Thank you, Harry. I don't know what else to say, but it hardly seems enough."

"I'm sure you'll make up for it ... with your homework nagging!" Harry grinned. "Oh, I'm sorry _... encouragement_. I forgot that's what we were calling it now!"

"How about I give you a month of being nagged-free when we are back at Hogwarts?" Hermione grinned. "Sound fair?"

"More than fair," Harry agreed with a chuckle. "But I'm still paying for us to get _up there_."

Harry inclined his head towards the uppermost pod of the London Eye, which they were now standing beneath.

Hermione swallowed hard. "Oh my. Now we are under it, I see it's a lot higher than I thought. Is it really worth going _all_ the way to the top?"

"It has a great view of London," Harry persuaded. "And don't worry, I'll be there to make sure you don't fall!"

"Promise?" Hermione asked shyly.

"Always," Harry replied, grinning a little gormlessly. That reply was a shade risky, but Hermione's cutesy little smile told Harry he'd gotten away with it.

The queue to ride the Eye was long and snaking. Harry bought their tickets and they joined the back of the line. Hermione grew more and more nervous the closer it came to being their turn, so Harry distracted her by asking how she was getting on with their homework assignments. Pretty well, she had done half of them already. And did she need any more spray for her face and scalp? Maybe a little, as it was very sunny today.

Eventually, Harry had to leave her be and allow her to prepare in whatever way was best for her. Soon enough, they were at the head of the queue and waiting for their pod to arrive.

"Now, don't forget, the pods don't _stop_ ," Harry reminded her. "So best take it at a bit of a run if you're nervous."

"You _know_ I'm nervous!" Hermione squeaked. "Can you ... grab my hand, when we jump on? Just in case?"

Harry gulped. His palms rebelled instantly, clamming up at the prospect. Which annoyed him, as there was something oddly pleasant about the idea of holding Hermione's hand. He remembered how cool her skin was, on the one time he'd taken her hand previously, just before he went for a cosy little chat with a wild dragon.

It was an odd sort of life, when you were Harry Potter.

The one thing it _did_ mean was being brave. So Harry swallowed a hundred nervous butterflies and turned to Hermione.

"Yeah, alright. Scaredy cat!"

That worked. Hermione grinned semi-crossly at him, and Harry covered his silly nervousness by being, well, _silly_.

Then their pod came. It slowed to a crawl, moving no quicker than the average escalator. Even so, Hermione gripped firmly onto Harry's hand and they shuttled forwards, before leaping onto the car and making for a prime spot at the back of the viewing area.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Harry told her. Then he looked down. "You can, er, let go of my hand now. I-if you want."

Why had he stuttered? Harry didn't have an answer for that, nor why he'd laced the last few words with undisguised _hope_ ... that Hermione _didn't_ want. But he was left disappointed when she slowly (Harry didn't want to think _reluctantly_ ) disentangled her digits from his. But his mood lightened a moment later when Hermione curled a fist into the material of his long-sleeved top.

"I'm still holding on," she told him unabashedly, when he looked questioningly down at her hand. "You did promise."

"I did," Harry confirmed. "But look - you're missing all the sights."

Then he spent the rest of the ride pointing out all the landmarks of London, from St. Paul's to the Monument, to the Tower of London a little way in the distance. Hermione took it all in with her receptive curiosity, letting Harry talk as he explained that the height of the Monument was the exact distance to Pudding Lane, and the baker's shop where the Great Fire was started in 1666. Harry liked telling Hermione things just as much as she liked hearing them, and it was all too rare that this dynamic happened this way around, so Harry enjoyed it while it lasted.

Then they were hopping off the ride and back into the sweltering heat of the mid-July sun. Harry wildly wondered just how hot it would have to get to start a _second_ Great Fire, and if all the water of the Thames would be enough to put it out. He and Hermione discussed this as they made their way back over Westminster Bridge towards the Houses of Parliament. From there it was a short walk West along the river to Brompton Road tube station.

Disused now on the Muggle Underground, the station was the access route to the Merlin Line, the special Magical-only line on the Tube network. Harry liked the gold livery of the trains, and the new seat moquette, which depicted a wand and a cauldron. Hermione thought the cauldron looked more like a pumpkin, and they argued this all the way to Immore Alley station, at the Northern end of magical central London.

A quick orbit around (for Harry was barred from entering Immore Alley until he was at least seventeen) and they found themselves in the familiar setting of Diagon Alley. There was a substantial crowd gathered around Flourish and Blotts and, like moths to a flame, Harry and Hermione were drawn close to see what all the fuss was about.

And Harry's mood took a quick nosedive south.

" _A Special 'Magical Me' Event,"_ Harry read from a loud poster in the window. " _Get your copy of the international bestseller signed by the international best wizard himself - Gilderoy Lockhart! Get down early! Crowds guaranteed!_ Gah! I'd rather eat my own toilet waste. It has the same validity as Lockhart's books! Oh no, it's on Tuesday ... the same day we're coming for our school things!"

Hermione giggled next to him. "Harry, that's not very kind. Why are you so convinced Lockhart is such a fraud?"

"Just look at him!" Harry sniped bitterly, pointing at the moving image of a simpering Lockhart on the poster. "Look at that face! If he'd _Travelled With Trolls_ and all that other stuff like that would his hair be that pristine, his smile that immaculate? His teeth look more like piano keys, for Morganna's Sake! No, he's full of himself ... and a lot of other stuff besides!"

Hermione giggled again and clung to Harry's arm in her mirth. That improved Harry's mood without even trying. But it swung away again a second later, as a familiar drawl spoke from next to them.

"Ooh, looking forward to meeting your hero, eh Scarhead? Perhaps looking for some tips on how to milk your fame? Or the best way to sign autographs, maybe?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Hermione snapped angrily. "You leave him alone. Harry never asked for his fame, and he's certainly never _milked it_!"

Malfoy sneered back. "How does it feel, Potter, to have a _girl_ stand up for you all the time? I'd be ashamed, if it were me."

"I don't mind it, but if we're talking about emasculation, at least my father doesn't have girlier hair than my mother," Harry returned silkily. "That's something _I'd_ be embarrassed about, if it were _me_."

"Don't you talk about my parents like that!" Malfoy scowled angrily, rounding on Harry, who immediately reached for his wand.

But then, a squeaky little voice stopped them at a stroke.

"No! Master Draco must _not_ be fighting. Must stop!"

Harry looked around, confused, for the source of the voice. His eyes moved down ... and fell onto a bizarre little creature hiding behind Malfoy's legs. A creature with a bulbous head, floppy ears and a filthy rag which it wore like a toga.

"Hello," Harry said in his confusion. "What are you?"

He hadn't meant to ask _what_ , but his curiosity had taken over his tongue. The little creature didn't seem to mind, however. He gave out a little mewl of surprise and looked up with globe-shaped eyes.

"Mister Harry Potter asked Dobby a question!"

"You know who I am?" Harry asked, surprised. The creature nodded so vigorously his ears slapped against his head like leathery flaps. "Dobby? Is that your name? What sort of creature are you?"

"This is my elf, _obviously_ ," Malfoy drawled. "And you aren't to speak to it."

" _It_?" Hermione spat in disgust.

"Yes, _it_ , Granger," Malfoy scorned back. "House-elves are only one rung below Mudbloods on the social scale. Thank yourself lucky that Hogwarts took you in as a student ... and not as a _slave_. It must have been a close-run thing."

"Mudblood?" Harry asked, angrily guessing in his mind. "What's that?"

He rather thought he knew, but he was seething too much by the insinuation to keep his temper in check.

"Ask _your_ mother," Malfoy sniped. "After all, _she's_ one, too."

Harry reached for his wand, but Dobby snapped his fingers and Harry went stock-still, as if hit with Petrificus Totalus.

"Dobby is sorry, Mister Harry Potter," the elf squawked quickly. "But Dobby cannot allow Master Draco to be hurt, and Harry Potter is a very great wizard."

"Let him go, Dobby, I can take him!" Malfoy cried, wrenching clear of his elf.

"But can you take us _both?"_

Malfoy faltered as he looked up to see Hermione, her eyes flashing furiously, with _both_ her wands pointed right at his face. He took a step back in the face of her ire.

"I was only playing," Malfoy backtracked, eyeing the wands fearfully. "I wouldn't want to embarrass the boy wonder in front of his _girlfriend_ anyway. Not when there's no money in it."

Malfoy took several more steps back until he was clear of Hermione's wand-tips.

"I suppose you'll both be back here for the book signing. Maybe I'll come along to see Potter hog the limelight again. He's always good for a laugh. What is it the Muggles say? _See you next Tuesday."_

And with that Dobby snapped his fingers again, and whisked Malfoy away in a swirl of light and colour.

Harry frowned as he was released from his body-bind. "What was that? A house-elf, did Malfoy say? I've never heard of them. You don't _really_ think they have slaves at Hogwarts, do you?"

"I don't think I believe _anything_ Malfoy has to say," Hermione replied, but she lacked her usual self-assuredness as she avoided Harry's eye.

Her evasive response wasn't lost on Harry, who scowled as he processed it.

"Right, let's go and see my parents," Harry huffed. "They can tell us if Malfoy was spouting rubbish or not. And they can explain what this Mudblood nonsense is all about while they're at it!"

But as soon as they entered the east door of _The Leaky Cauldron_ , any ideas of grilling James and Lily was quickly forgotten, dispelled by the grave look on _Lyra's_ face.

"What? What is it?" Hermione asked quickly. "What's wrong?"

"We were supposed to have a surprise for you," James confessed. "Sirius and Malcolm were due to return from the North today. They were going to meet us here."

Harry's stomach coiled and knotted at the dark look in his father's eyes.

"But?" he pushed cautiously.

" _But_ , there's been a problem," Lily took over. "There was an incident in the Arctic, we are still only getting details of what happened. But what we _do_ know is that Sirius and Malcolm somehow got separated."

"And?" Hermione demanded in a business-like tone. "I get the impression there's an ' _and'_ here."

" _And_ ," Lyra cut in grimly. "Sirius was left behind ... on the _other side_ of the portal. It closed when Mal and Serafina came back through. We don't know how, or why, but Sirius is trapped ... marooned back in _our world ..._ and we have no idea how we're supposed to get him back." 


	2. Celebrity Is As Celebrity Does

A/N: Bonus point for spotting the hidden message in this chapter. Just a bit of fun to test your sharp eyes!

* * *

Harry - aimless, restless - mewled out nervous yelps.

“What do you mean ‘you can’t get him back’? _”_ he demanded desperately. “Sirius cant be stuck there _forever_?”

Lily moved to comfort her son. “We don’t know enough yet to assume anything. This is a developing situation, and we’ve not long found out ourselves.”

Harry groaned again. That wasn’t the answer he wanted.

“Mrs Potter?” Hermione asked politely, stepping forward. “But how _do_ you know about this? Are you sure, _absolutely_ sure, that it’s true?”

“We’re sure,” Lily replied. “The message came straight from the source.”

Lily nodded to a room just at the back of the pub. Harry and Hermione followed her line of sight - and both blinked at what they saw. For a rather large snow goose was padding about the room, looking for all the world as though it were the most natural thing for him to be there. Harry looked at Hermione in confusion, but then he saw both Pantalaimon and Papageno touch touches politely with the snow goose, and he thought he understood.

“Is that a dæmon?” he asked lowly.

Hermione nodded. “That’s Kaisa. He is the dæmon of Serafina Pekkala.”

Harry turned to her in deep surprise. “The witch who made you Separate from Papageno?”

“Well, she didn’t _make_ us,” Hermione replied, colouring softly. “We chose to do that. But she helped us, showed us how to do it. And she was the one who helped us recover afterwards.”

Harry felt a pang in his chest. He didn’t like the idea of Hermione needing to recover, as that would mean she was _hurt_ in the first place. And the concept of Hermione in pain was simply abhorrent in Harry’s mind. He had no place for it.

He turned to his mother again. “And _he_ was the one who brought news about Sirius?”

It was Lyra who answered this time. “Yes. Serafina helped Mal and Sirius to cross back into my world. The Witches of Serafina’s clan guard the portal on this side, so that normal explorers don’t accidentally stumble through it. Serafina’s witch nature acts like a conduit between this world and that. She has to be in physical contact with anyone passing through - to make sure they reach the world they intended.”

“Then … there are others?” Harry shuddered. "Other worlds, I mean?"

“Millions,” Lyra confirmed. "More than could ever be counted."

“So, could Sirius be lost in one of those other worlds?” Harry yelped again. “We might never even find him again if he is!”

“No, that hasn’t happened,” Lyra reassured him. “Kaisa told me that Serafina crossed fine with Mal, and then it happened. There was a flash of light - a surge of magical power that she could feel - then the portal was blocked off.”

“Blocked?” Hermione queried. “You make it sound like you think this was done deliberately.”

Lily addressed Hermione now. “I don’t claim to know as much about these portals as Lyra, but we did study the one we had at the Ministry of Magic for a very long time. Our plan - once Voldemort was pushed through it - was to close it up if we could.”

“But we never found a way,” James cut in. “Now both Lily and I - as well as Sirius and Albus Dumbledore - are all pretty powerful magically. But nothing we did seemed to have any effect. In truth, we didn’t make a dent.”

“Meaning what?” asked Harry.

“Meaning,” James replied. “That whatever, or _whoever_ , closed that portal must have a level of magical skill that is likely greater than our own.”

“Or perhaps is of a different sort, one possibly a little more in tune with the natural forces of the world,” Lily added as an afterthought.

It was Hermione’s turn to shiver now. “What sort of person or entity would have the power to close a barrier between _worlds?_ It is astonishing to even consider it.”

“I think the bigger question is _why_ ,” Harry butted in. “If this was done on purpose we need to find out not only _who_ did it, but why they did it. If they targeted Sirius we need to know everything about it."

“And we will be working very hard to find all that out,” Lily assured her son and his best friend.

“In the meantime, Mal is going to stay in the North, see if he can help Serafina and her witches to reopen the gateway from this side,” James told them. “Malcolm helped build the portal, so if anyone can re-open it he’s got as good a chance as any.”

“And Sirius?” Harry demanded. “What about him?”

“I’m sending Pan back with Kaisa,” Lyra replied gently. “Dæmons have a way of crossing worlds that we humans cant fathom. It takes a bit of time, but they will probably reach Sirius before we do.”

“That’s not _good_ enough!” Harry yelled, stamping his foot. Heavy silence fell between them all. Frustrated tears boiled behind Harry’s eyes and he felt ashamed of his outburst. “Sorry, Miss Lyra. Thank you for sending Pan to do this. It sounds dangerous. But there must be something else we can do? Some other way to contact him? We can do _magic_ for crying out loud!”

“But, Harry,” Hermione whispered softly, stepping into his circle of pulsing emotion when no-one else dared. “That wasn’t enough for me, remember? Sirius had to go all the way to my parents to give them the two-way mirror. If there was an easier way to reach them, we’d have done that, wouldn’t we?”

Harry felt his anger recede at Hermione’s satin-soft voice. She had a funny way of being able to calm him like that. It didn’t _help_ the situation, but Harry certainly felt better when his mind wasn’t racing a mile-a-minute.

“So, we can’t contact him,” Harry huffed, taking a deep breath. “But can we at least find out if he’s still alive? Dad? What about all those rituals you can do? Is there anything like that which could help?”

James looked at Lily with an impressed grin. “Possibly. I’d have to hit the books … divining the truth is never straight forward. But we might be able to come up with something.”

Then Hermione gasped, before gripping Harry’s arm excitedly.

“What? What is it?” Harry winced, for the pressure on his forearm was slightly painful.

“Harry - what your Dad just said - it gave me an idea!” Hermione chirruped. “He said about using books to see the truth and I remembered … we _have_ got a way to find out about Sirius!”

“We do?” Harry asked in cautious hope. “What is it?”

Hermione turned her eyes to her Mistress. “The alethiometer. That can tell us how Sirius is, cant it Miss Lyra?”

“Of course it can!” Lyra cried, leaping up animatedly. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“It’s because she’s in love with Sirius and cant think straight with him being in danger!” Harry whispered to Hermione, causing her to giggle violently next to him.

“Shush you two!” Lyra scowled through her uncharacteristic blush - as she’d clearly heard them - before turning to Lily. “Can I use that room back there? Can you make it silent for me? I need quiet for this to work.”

“Lead on,” Lily smiled, drawing her wand. “It’s been a while since I’ve cast a Privacy Charm, but I’m sure I can manage one!”

Then the two ladies sauntered off to the back room. The dæmons amassed there stepped aside dolefully, while Lyra carefully placed the alethiometer in front of her and began turning the dials on the sides. Harry angled his head to try and get a look, as he was deeply keen to see the truth-reader, curious to watch it at work. But he was too far away and had to simply content himself with waiting until Lyra was done.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes.

“Well? What did it say?” Hermione asked briskly, as Lily and Lyra returned to them

“He is with the bears,” Lyra announced with a huge grin. “That’s _exactly_ what it said!”

Harry relaxed at Lyra’s relieved tone. “The bears? And that’s … good?”

“These aren’t regular bears, Harry,” Hermione explained. “They are the _panserbjorne_ \- _armoured_ bears. They are fierce warriors, but the most of honourable of beings, too. If Sirius is with them, then he’s safe. He’ll be okay if he’s with Iorek.”

“Iorek?”

“Iorek Byrnison, he’s the King.”

“The bears have a King? Wow. You’ll have to tell me all about _that_!”

“I think it’s a story we would all like to hear!” James chuckled. “How about Lyra and Hermione tell us more over dinner and drinks. I waited all day for Paddy to show up … now I’m starving.”

Lily looked at him in disgust. “Your best friend is missing! And you only think about your stomach!”

“First order of business, survival,” James replied, unabashed. “Paddy would tell you the same.”

“Why do you call him Paddy, Mr Potter?” Hermione asked with a crinkle to her brow, as Lily ushered them into a booth and called a waitress over.

“It’s from his Animagus name,” James explained. “In his dog form we called him Padfoot. Hence, _Paddy.”_

“Padfoot?” Lyra swooned lowly. “The name of his dæmon was _Padfiette,_ when we finally met her. She was a fierce old bloodhound, that one.”

“Then if Paddy is with her _and_ these bears of yours, he’ll be alright,” James chuckled confidently. “He’s a survivor, is Sirius. He’d be having a right old laugh if he thought we were sat here fretting about him, while he’s probably having the time of his life. So, let’s stop worrying and listen to Hermione, who was about to tell us about these magnificent Knights of the North …”

* * *

It was a good thing Harry had such a busy week, as it kept his mind from Sirius and his predicament. He had to keep active, as without Hermione to keep him sane and grounded Harry was liable to race around the flat in a state of perpetual, fretful motion. He couldn’t settle to anything, starting task after task but never finishing a single one.

In the end, it threatened to drive his mother round the twist.

“James! Do something with this little stressball, will you?” Lily begged on Saturday morning. “I need to get this paperwork done before Monday … and I cant do it with Dick Van Dyke flitting around me like this!”

“Dick Van Dyke?” James quirked, then he looked over at Harry and chuckled. For his son was dressed in a dirty set of old clothes, had a broom in his hand and one foot in the fireplace.

“What?” Harry frowned as his father continued to laugh at him. “The chimney needs sweeping!”

“Come on, son,” James laughed. “Let’s go and burn off some of that energy on a _different_ type of broom.”

 _Hooch and Hardbroom’s_ was packed that morning, as was typical on a Saturday. Harry entered with his father standing boldly at his side. It occurred to Harry that James Potter might well be the worst Unspeakable in the history of the profession, for almost _everyone_ recognised him and gave him cheery waves as they passed. James insisted it was genius, that he was simply _hiding in plain sight_. Harry wanted to point out that if people could _see_ you then you weren’t actually hiding.

But Harry was about to go flying with his father for the first time in his life, and he was so excited about this that he was even willing to forget that James Potter was probably a complete idiot, if only for one afternoon.

“How can I help you today?” the elderly witch on the reception booth asked pleasantly, as Harry and James approached her.

“A flying rink for two, with a full Quidditch set, please,” James beamed.

“Very good, Sir. And will you be requiring brooms?”

“No, we have our own,” James grinned, brandishing a little box no bigger than a cigar case. Inside, two magically shrunken brooms were held fast by little silver clasps.

“A Nimbus _and_ the 2001 model!” the reception witch gleamed. “You’ll be the envy of the arena.”

“We’ll try and keep the Wronski Feints to a minimum!” James chuckled. He paid five Silver sickles each for himself and Harry and they trotted off to Flying Rink number Seven, which was down at the far end.

“Dad?” Harry asked with a little frown. “What’s a _Wronski Feint_?”

“Ooh, has Sirius never shown you the most _dangerous_ move in flying?” James crowed gleefully. “I cant say I’m shocked. He never was much of a broomsman … this manoeuvre was always beyond him. Now your old _Dad_ on the other hand …”

And with that James resized Harry’s old Nimbus and kicked off hard from the ground, grabbing a Bludger as he shot upwards like an arrow. The Bludger followed and James avoided it skilfully. He wasn’t lying, he really _did_ fly well. Harry watched in awe and appreciation as his father practically _funned_ with the hapless Bludger, taunted it even.

“Ready for this, son?” James called down with a grin, as he gunned low past Harry, who nodded eagerly.

Then he rocketed upwards, the Bludger went hurtling behind, then James curled round into a steep vertical dive. Harry watched in wide-eyed astonishment, wondering - as James streaked towards the ground - just why his father had chosen today to commit suicide. The ground came quickly … the impact was moments away … Harry was already sketching his father’s eulogy in his mind … and then …

_Thump!_

At the last minute, James pulled the broom from the dive and hurtled back towards the roof of the aerodrome in an exaggerated twirling motion. The Bludger had nothing like that dexterity. It smashed into the ground so hard that it disappeared under the mound of earth it threw up on the impact.

Harry clapped vigorously - as did the large crowd that had gathered outside their rink net to watch.

James landed deftly at Harry’s feet. “Now _that_ , son, was a Wronski Feint!” he beamed widely. “Only the Bludger is usually the opposition Seeker. Just keep that move in mind if you come up against a Seeker you don’t particularly like!”

“Wow, Dad!” Harry gawped. “That was _amazing_!”

“It wasn’t my first time,” James replied smugly. “But, seriously, don’t you go trying that back at Hogwarts. If Minerva tells me you _have_ been, I’ll take that expensive broom right off you, leave you with a Cleansweep Five or some other piece of tat.”

“I wont, Dad,” Harry promised faithfully. “Even though I’m _dying_ to now you’ve shown me.”

“Speaking of _showing me_ , I hear you fly pretty well,” James quirked with a grin. “It’s about time I saw for myself.”

Harry’s face cracked into a wide smile as his father resized his shiny new broom and Harry kicked off from the ground. He felt that wonderful blast of air to his face, that rush of tingles as he became airborne. He really did love to fly. He zoomed around the rink, spinning upside down and doing a few loop-the-loops, drawing excited cheers from a gaggle of girls that was watching him from down below.

Harry didn’t have time to feel flustered by that, as soon his father was flying right alongside him.

“What say we do a couple of circuits together?” James quirked, hovering just to Harry’s right. “Then how about a game of Quaffle Catch?”

That sounded just about the best thing Harry could imagine.

An hour later, which was probably the quickest hour Harry had ever lived, and it was with a sort of cosy exhilaration that he followed his father from the flying rink. The little cluster of girls shuffled over excitedly, each one egging the other on for some cause Harry couldn’t fathom, but felt irrationally wary of.

“Go _on_ , you ask him.”

“No, _you_ do it!”

“No, _you_ … you’re the one that fancies him!”

Harry coloured deeply as James grinned down at him. To their immediate left, the swarm of girls were getting ever closer. They all looked around Harry’s age, with some maybe a little younger. Harry was not amused to see a shock of ginger hair among the number, but - thankfully - the head of Ginevra Weasley was not near to the front of this Murder of Maidens.

“Dad! Hurry up! Walk faster.”

“Why?” James teased. “Are we in a rush?”

“No, but if you don’t want to make the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ \- for hexing a bunch of schoolgirls to death to protect your son - I suggest you get a move on!”

James laughed heartily. “Oh, dear, son. You’re going to need to develop a better defence mechanism than that! You’re a good-looking boy - you get that from me! - and you’ll break a _lot_ of hearts before your star begins to wane. Better get used to it.”

“I don’t want to break _any_ hearts,” Harry complained. “I don’t anyone giving me their heart to break in the first place!”

“Now _that_ isn’t strictly true, is it?” James quipped wryly.

Harry’s felt something stick in his throat at the hugely loaded look his father was throwing at him. He shivered under the flash of understanding that passed between them. Oddly, he was glad when the expected interruption finally came, because who knows where _that_ conversation might have gone.

“Excuse me?” said a sweet little voice as Harry and James came to a sudden stop. “You’re Harry Potter, aren’t you?”

Harry turned away shyly. But James was perfectly amiable to make up for his son’s aloofness.

“Yes he is,” James replied brightly. “And I’m his father. What can we do for you, young lady?”

Harry looked through the gap in his father’s arm. A girl with dark French plaits and almond-shaped eyes was looking earnestly back at him.

“Could we please have your autograph?” the girl asked. “Our friends will _never_ believe we saw you in real life when we tell them. Please?”

“Of course you can!” James chimed. He took a copy of _Witch Weekly_ from the girl. There was a picture of Harry on the cover - of course there was - and a match-by-match account of his first Quidditch season at Hogwarts. “Who are we making this out to?”

“Can you please sign _To Demelza, love Harry?”_ the girl asked, hopefully.

Harry growled slightly as he snatched the magazine and quill - which James had conjured from somewhere - from his father. “I’ll sign the cover … but I wont _lie_.”

He scribbled _To Demelza, from Harry Potter_ , signing his name so messily it was practically illegible. But the girl, Demelza, was delighted nonetheless. She squeaked a ‘thank you’ and ran back to her little coven, who all began to swoon over the signature.

“Seriously, it’s just ink,” Harry grumbled.

“Yes, but it’s ink from _you!”_ James tittered. “Come on, son. This isn’t going to go away … so I think we need to have a long discussion about managing your public persona.”

* * *

When Harry told Hermione about his being accosted at the aerodrome, when they met up the following Tuesday, her response took Harry by surprise. He expected her to offer some sage advice, or to suggest some spells to keep the girls away, perhaps to even begin to draft a lawsuit against the magical media at large for violation of his privacy.

What he _hadn’t_ expected was for her to be so utterly _livid._

“They did _what!_ ” she thundered, at a rather unreasonably high volume - Harry thought - considering they were in a bookshop. “Those animals! Those _heathens_! Who do they think they are, interrupting your private time with your Dad like that? And Ginny Weasley was there, you say? One day, you know, that girl and I are going to have a _serious_ falling out!”

Surprised as he was, Harry couldn’t help but grin warmly at Hermione assuming the role of his champion like this. She was, for whatever reason, angry enough for the both of them. He didn’t think Hermione had ever fallen _in_ with Ginny Weasley, now she was planning an explosive falling out? That cheered Harry no end, and made the whole thing seem not quite so annoying after all.

But speaking of annoying …

“Welcome! Welcome!” Fabian Flourish announced with a, well, _flourish_. “The time you have all been waiting for is finally here! The reason you have all come today has now arrived! It is my proud honour to introduce the one, the only, Gilderoy Lockhart!”

Harry groaned. He had hoped to avoid this moment, but he was out of luck it would seem. However, the rest of the crowd - the mostly _female_ crowd - began to clap wildly. Even Hermione put her hands together with more zeal than Harry thought was necessary. But then again, he was of the firm opinion that _one_ clap was probably one too many for this court jester.

So Harry glowered at Hermione. “Why are _you_ clapping?”

“I’m just being polite,” Hermione murmured, turning a curious shade of scarlet and steely avoiding Harry’s gaze.

Harry continued to look at her queerly, steadfastly refusing to join in this raucous applause, that the wizard at the front of the shop was now basking in. There was a collective swoon from the ladies of the crowd. Even from the young lady closest to Harry.

“Do you need some fresh air?” Harry asked in concern.

“No, why do you ask?”

“That breathy sigh you just made,” Harry clarified, his lips curling into a slight frown. “I thought you might be having trouble breathing or something. It is quite stuffy in here.”

“I’m quite alright, thank you,” Hermione replied brightly. She still wasn’t looking at him. She kept patting her hair in a very peculiar way and Harry was about to question her about this bizarre new affliction she was suffering under.

But then Lockhart began speaking.

“Hello, everyone!” he announced theatrically, flashing his brilliantly white teeth at them all. “Welcome, welcome! Form an orderly queue … fear not, for the Banshees didn’t break me, I survived a Year with the Yeti, and my days Wandering with Werewolves are now past … and there’s plenty of me to go around!”

Harry felt the desire to vomit all over the obscenely enormous pile of Lockhart’s books nearby. But he had to pick up a copy of each first, as they were on the required reading list for the next Hogwarts year. He and Hermione collected a set each, added them to the books they already had for their other classes and made their way towards the till to pay. Harry was keen to get out of the shop as quickly as possible.

Oddly, Hermione had chosen to stand on Harry’s left, rather than what had become her usual position on his right. Shuffling along in this configuration would allow her to pass close to Lockhart’s book signing table, and Harry wasn’t sure if he was happy about this or not. On the one hand, it meant he was shielded from the wavy-haired bimbo and his peacock’s feather quill - which annoyed Harry even more as he clocked eyes on it. But then he was confused by Hermione’s abrupt change of what had become their habit, and this concerned Harry even more deeply than the possibility of being spotted by Gilderoy the Gormless.

“All these together please,” Harry told the cashier, and he dumped all their books on the counter, as Hermione turned her eyes down bashfully next to him. She had gracefully accepted the offer that Harry’s parents had - happily - made to sponsor her tuition at Hogwarts, but she was still shy when it came to seeing it in action.

“I assume you’re for Hogwarts,” the cashier said as he began totalling up the cost. Harry nodded the affirmative. “Well, in that case, you’d better pop to Mr Lockhart’s table before you pay. There’s a special _extra_ book you’ll need for next year.”

“From _him_?” Harry scoffed. “Why?”

“Don’t be flippant, Harry!” Hermione squeaked. “We need another book! Come on.”

And with that she grabbed his arm and dragged him bodily to Lockhart’s table at the side of the till. There was a low-level outcry at them jumping the queue, but Hermione was bobbing on the balls of her heels and didn’t notice the grumbles at all. Harry had the strongest urge to shake this silliness out of his best friend.

What on earth had come over her?

“Excuse me, Mr Lockhart,” Hermione twittered excitedly. “We were told we have to pick up books for Hogwarts, we were told. We go to Hogwarts. So we need books. That’s what we were told. Can we get them then, please? If you have any spare time, please?”

Gilderoy Lockhart put down his quill and flashed a winning smile at Hermione. For a wild moment, Harry swore that Hermione _shrank_ an inch or two, as though her knees had given way beneath her. But then, Lockhart’s gaze left Hermione and fell on _him_. Lockhart glanced away … then snapped his eyes back a second later.

“Can it _be_!” he hushed. “Yes! It is … _Harry Potter_!”

Little whispers broke out within the amassed crowd and Harry felt himself pushed forward into Lockhart’s strong grip. Then there was a big camera in his face.

“Nice, big smile, Harry, that’s the way,” Lockhart simpered as the camera flashed away. “Get the girl in, too. _Gilderoy Lockhart meets Harry Potter and his little girlfriend_. Imagine the _angle!_ That’s got to be worth the front page!”

The next thing Harry knew was that Hermione was shunted next to him. Someone had draped her arm around his neck, thread his around her waist and then posed them so that she was practically _hanging_ off him. Harry was too surprised by the whirlwind of motion to even _think_ to protest. He tried not to imagine the headlines in the morning papers.

“What a fabulous moment this is!” Lockhart announced in that dramatic tone he loved so much. “When young Harry here, and his lucky little lady, entered Flourish and Blotts today to purchase my autobiography - _Magical Me_ \- he was only hoping to help keep it at the Number One Spot in the Bestseller Chart for a record _twenty-seventh_ week!”

Lockhart paused to milk the eruption of applause that he knew would follow his announcement. Once he’d smiled enough, or his jaw was tired from it, he addressed the crowd again.

“Twenty- seven! Where do the weeks go? But I get distracted! Yes, when Harry came to buy my book today, he had no idea that he would not only be sharing in my life’s reflections and memoires, but would soon also be sharing in my _dreams,_ too. In fact, we will be sharing in dreams _together._

“For I will soon be fulfilling a dream, ladies and gentlemen, one I have held dear for the longest time. A dream more challenging and more rewarding than all my life’s adventures combined - for details see my published works! And for _that_ Harry will need _this_ , a Dream Diary - which I will now present him _free of charge!_ ”

There was another round of applause and Harry looked at Hermione, hoping she might clear up his confusion. But Hermione was not looking at him, she was _transfixed_ by Lockhart. Her eyes were sparkling, as though she’d been dazzled by his piano-key teeth and the jaunty angle of his pointed hat.

“Why do I need a dream diary?” Harry asked crossly.

“For, my dear boy, you will soon be receiving the greatest education in fighting the Dark Arts ... from the greatest foe of the Dark Arts in the history of magic - _me!_ ”

Harry groaned as he realised what that might mean. Lockhart confirmed it a moment later.

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce that your children will soon be being taught the strongest Defence Against the Dark Arts by yours truly, the Champion of the Light! And the Darkest Art is being unable to dream. But I don’t want to give too much away, to make my future students _too_ excited! Term doesn’t start for a whole month yet!”

The burst of excitement Lockhart’s pronouncement caused allowed Harry to disentangle himself from those silk, forget-me-not blue robes of his and make a dash for the exit, just as soon as he’d paid for his books. He was almost free and into the air when another unwanted irritant suddenly blocked his path.

“What did I tell you? Hogging the limelight as always. Even in a bookshop famous Scarhead cant help but make a scene for himself!”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Harry growled. “Out of my way.”

“Make me,” Malfoy volleyed back.

He was being unusually bold, and then Harry saw why. For there, on his shoulder, was the powerful figure of his father, hovering like a menacing bodyguard.

“Now, now, Draco, play nice,” Lucius sneered, raising his ornate cane as a sort of barrier between his son and Harry. “Or, perhaps, don’t play at all. I wouldn’t want you to get dirty … cavorting with all this _muddy blood_.”

Harry noticed then that Hermione had arrived just behind him. She stared furiously at the Malfoys. Away from Lockhart, it seemed, she was back to her old self. He wondered if she’d been under some sort of spell the whole time.

“If it’s bad blood you want,” Hermione sniped through gritted teeth. “We’re more than up for that. Aren’t we, Harry?”

“Too _bloody_ right we are!” Harry confirmed stoutly. “That’s just my game.”

“Making enemies with the rich and famous?” Lucius simpered loftily, picking up Hermione’s new dream diary from on top of her pile of books. “I wouldn’t _dream_ of it.”

“Then I suggest you get out of my face!” Harry growled. “Or that’s exactly what you will be doing.”

“Forgive our intrusion,” Lucius smirked falsely. “We were just trying to be friendly. Come along, Draco, before we sink any lower.”

“See you at school,” Draco sneered lowly, as his father slid the dream diary back onto Hermione's stack of purchases.

"Let's go, Harry," Hermione urged. "You remember what your Dad told you about not courting _negative_ attention." 

Hermione scowled one more time at the Malfoys, then steered Harry into the fresh air of Diagon Alley. She led him down into a little alcove and allowed his anger to erupt. Harry had a hot temper, and Hermione was prepared to be the only one who need absorb it. Once he’d spent himself, Hermione pressed a hand to his chest to still him, which happened far quicker than she’d expected.

“You shouldn’t let him get to you, Harry,” Hermione hushed. “It’s _Malfoy_. He’s not worth letting under your skin.”

“He’s just making my blood boil lately,” Harry seethed. “And if he makes _one_ more comment about _your_ blood …”

Then something happened that Hermione had never seen before. As Harry’s emotion surged, the air around his body began to crackle and sparkle. It burst out in colours, greens and reds for the most part, with a tint of gold here and there. It was like looking at the Northern Lights … only this was around _Harry._

“What is that?” Hermione murmured. She reached out her hand and tried to touch the flashes of colour swimming around Harry’s chest.

“Oh!” Harry gasped, as Hermione’s fingers brushed over the floaty little waves.

“Did that … _hurt?_ ”

“Sort of,” Harry confirmed uncertainly. “But it kind of … _tickled_ , too.”

Hermione snatched her hand back quickly, as though she’d been chided by Harry. But he was more concerned about the continuing little rainbow engulfing him.

“What is this, Hermione?” Harry asked in a tiny voice. “It isn’t going away. C-can you make it stop?”

Harry’s voice was so small and fragile that Hermione felt her heart cry out at the sound.

“I don’t know how.”

“What do you think it is?” Harry asked quietly, as though desperate for Hermione to have the answers.

“At a guess? You’re having a bout of _accidental magic,_ ” she offered. “I’ve read about them. At times when you’re particularly emotional, your magic can sort of _spill_ out of you.”

“That’s happened before!” Harry cried in a gasp. “When I was younger. But … how can I bring it back under control?”

“Breathe, calm yourself,” Hermione suggested. “Find a way to let go of your anger and relax.”

“I don’t know if I can. I’m just so cross at Malfoy and his Dad, for what they said about you.”

“I’m a big girl, Harry, it’s just sticks and stones,” Hermione dismissed off-handedly. “I have no respect for Malfoy, so his insults are equally worthless. Let it go … and if you _do_ , there’s a reward in it for you.”

“That sounds like bribery,” Harry grinned, and immediately his flaring aura began to recede.

“If it works, it works,” Hermione snickered. “Release it, Harry. I’m allowing you to. I don’t want you to be angry for me. It doesn’t suit you. Let it go.”

And just like that, he did. He took a huge breath and the last of his magic flowed back under his skin with the exhale.

“Well, that was weird.”

“I’d call it _fascinating_. We should look into it a lot more.”

Harry huffed. “We aren’t even back at school yet and you’re setting us extra homework already! So … what was this reward you mentioned?”

Harry gulped, and felt a bizarre urge to moisten his lips. So he did. Hermione noticed that and flushed madly. For a moment she was tempted to _change_ the reward, to take the most courageous step she could imagine. But she was far too terrified of slipping and falling, so she stuck to the original plan.

“It’s this,” Hermione replied breathily. “It’s your birthday present a little bit early. Happy Birthday, Harry.”

Harry opened his eyes wide as Hermione reached into her little bag and handed over a brightly coloured envelope. It was covered in sparkly glitter and the card inside depicted a red-robed Quidditch player reaching for a Golden Snitch. It looked as if Hermione had made the card herself, and Harry felt instantly covetous of it.

“I hope you haven’t spent a lot of money,” Harry warned as he opened the card.

“Only a little,” Hermione confessed. “Now that we haven’t got to worry about school supplies, Lyra has a lot more disposable income. Mal brought a lot of money back from Lyra’s account in our world, too. So I wanted to treat you. Open it.”

Harry was sure he was going to frown at whatever was waiting inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to when he saw it. The card had two other slips of card attached to one side, and Hermione’s hand written message shone in silver ink opposite them.

_Happy birthday, Harry!_

_I want you to have a great day, so I’ve bought you two tickets for the Weird Sisters concert. They are playing in London on July 31_ _ st _ _! What are the chances! The only condition is that you take me along with you using the other ticket, as I’m dying to see them play, too! The ticket includes a VIP Meet and Greet after the show, too, but if you want to take someone else, I’ll understand and I hope you have a good time._

_Happy birthday,_

_Love from Hermione._

Harry stared at the card a moment, his heart beating faster under his ribs. Then he just launched himself at Hermione.

“ _Harry!”_ Hermione squeaked in pleasant surprise as Harry hugged her tight. “I take it you like it?”

“Like it? I _love_ it!” Harry crowed gleefully, pulling away and reading the tickets again. “And of course I’ll take you! Who else could I possibly want to go with? Ooh, we could go in costumes, or get matching moon goddess pendants - that’s their symbol, you know - or at the very least I could lend you one of the t-shirts I have of theirs. It’s going to be great!”

“Cool. It’s a date, then.”

Harry looked up in bewilderment. “Of course it’s a date … it's July the Thirty-First.”

Hermione smiled in a sort of exasperated disappointment and shook her head. Harry really could be hopeless sometimes. But Hermione didn’t think she’d want it any other way.


	3. Mum's The Word

Sirius blinked himself awake and drew his travelling cloak tight around his shoulders, to keep out the rattling breeze from the Arctic Sea. Icy spray splashed in through the bars on the window, before freezing on Sirius’ stubble. It was getting long now, and he would have to shave it soon.

It was the first thing on his agenda … just as soon as he got out of this prison.

“Well, old girl, this is some predicament we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

Sirius’s voice hung in the bracing air a moment, and it wasn’t immediately clear to whom he was speaking. But just then, an enormous shaggy-haired bloodhound stepped from inside his chest and stretched her limbs, as if waking from the longest slumber.

Sirius grinned at the huge dog. “Looks like you needed that.”

“Well, it has been several years since you last took me for a walk!”

“I suppose _that’s_ why you haven’t given me a kiss yet, then!”

And with that, the bloodhound bounded over to Sirius and began licking his face furiously. It helped to clear the ice build up on his eyebrows, but soon Sirius was swatting the dog away.

“Alright, alright, _Padfiette!_ That’s quite enough of that!” Sirius admonished with a chuckle, scratching his once-again exposed dæmon behind her ears. “It’s good to see you again, old girl.”

“I never went away,” Padfiette replied loftily, sitting back on her haunches. “I was always there, just out of sight. And less of the _old_ , if you please.”

Sirius chortled lowly again. “Well, I’m glad our little _power_ still works. I need a friend right about now.”

“How did this happen? I think I was sleeping when you were attacked.”

“The portal back to our world closed when we were on the run back through,” Sirius explained. “There was an _elf_ involved, I saw the little blighter. That’s what made me hesitate. He was hiding, in the doorway between worlds. I don’t think Malcolm or Serafina saw him, or maybe he slipped in when they went through. Either way, Dust illuminated him. But before I could react, he clicked his bony fingers and closed the portal.”

“And we were trapped here,” Padfiette completed solemnly. “Then the bears came.”

“Dakur Ragnasson,” Sirius confirmed. “Of _all_ the bears to be picked up by, we had to run into that crazy pup.”

“I would hardly call him a _pup_ ,” Padfiette considered sternly. “He could crush your skull to splinters with a single blow.”

“True, but I wonder if he still wants to overthrow Iorek Brynison,” Sirius mused. “That might give us an angle.”

“Assuming we can live long enough. We don’t even know why they’ve imprisoned us. Why not just kill us?”

“Tom Riddle, at a guess,” Sirius replied with a growl. “He has the whole of the North under his boot at this point. The bears are the only thing he _doesn’t_ control. I’d bet my fortune that his mind is bent on changing that. Merlin help us if Iorek cant hold his territory against this usurper. We’d all be in jeopardy if Riddle got control of the _panserbjorne._ ”

“We have to think of a plan,” Padfiette insisted, pacing around the ice prison. “Where are we?”

“Kvitoya, that was Dakur’s ancestral Holdfast,” Sirius replied.

“So not only do we have to find a way to escape, we also need a way off this frozen island,” Padfiette summarised. “It wont be easy. Where’s your wand?”

“They took it,” Sirius revealed. “Which is why I’m sure Riddle is behind this. They _knew_ to look for my wand. How else would they have been so well informed, without a wizard to advise them?”

“Then we can assume Tom Riddle is coming for you, too,” Padfiette returned. “And coming quickly. Our situation doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”

“Nonsense, we still have the advantage for the moment,” Sirius replied brightly. “We have a secret weapon … _you.”_

 _“_ Ah, my _special nature_.”

“Precisely!” Sirius crowed. “You are a dæmonlike no other. You have no scent, the dæmon-less creatures cant even see you if you stand still. You are invisible to them.”

“So the plan is for me to slip by the guards, fetch your wand like a good little doggy, then we fight our way free?”

“Simple, but effective.”

“It’s like Azkaban all over again,” Padfiette growled. “And those silly Dementors were no match for us, either. The bears have made a mistake this time.”

“Yes, and we’ve been here far too long already. I'm getting bored,” Sirius announced wryly, standing up and pulling his sleeves straight. "You know something? I'm almost annoyed by this! Almost."

“Before we do this, do we have a plan of escape once we’re away from the bears?” asked Padfiette. “Or will we wing it as usual?”

“No, we have a plan this time,” Sirius disclosed. “And we have friends here, too. All we have to do is get to my wand, then we can Apparate out of here.”

“To where?”

“Frank and Alice Longbottom,” Sirius replied. “If we have _any_ chance of getting home, they are _it._ And they wont stand around and let us rot here. They’ll be on their way. They can help us reopen the portal.”

“But how? I hope you aren’t suggesting a sacrifice to blast it open?”

“No, we aren’t _separating_ anyone… but _fusion_ might work just as well,” Sirius grinned.

Padfiette looked at Sirius with her big, round eyes. “You’re going to give them _our secret?_ ”

Sirius nodded. “If we can permanently fuse Frank and Alice’s dæmons back to their bodies, the energy release might just be enough to crack open a route home. And I’m pretty sure they’d be motivated. After all, they have a son they’ve not seen in over ten years. That must be worth risking _anything_ for.”

* * *

While Sirius was busy in another world, plotting his daring escape from one bind, Harry was happily being _bound up_ in his. Or, more precisely, _tucked in_. It had been a long time since Lily had been able to fold the covers in around her sleepy son, but as he was now mere minutes away from turning twelve years old, they both knew the days in which it was appropriate to do so were rushing away fast.

It wasn’t a situation _either_ of them was at all happy with.

“So, excited for tomorrow?” Lily cooed, smoothing the quilt down over Harry’s shoulders.

“Yes, very,” Harry grinned. “It’s not every day you turn twelve, is it? And in the night … well, I cant _wait_ for that!”

“I bet,” Lily smiled softly. “Your Dad and I are _so_ jealous, just so you know. We’d have gotten tickets ourselves but, well, we didn’t want to cramp your style.”

“Cramp my style?” Harry quirked with a furrowed expression. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, we didn’t want to get in the way while you and Hermione were having a good time,” Lily hushed. “We thought you might want some space … just in case.”

“In case _what_?” Harry frowned.

“Oh, you know, in case there was a _goodbye kiss_ in the offing, or something. We wouldn’t want to spoil that for you. For _either_ of you.”

Harry felt his entire body blush hotly under his quilt. “No, Mum. It isn’t like that.”

“It never is,” Lily replied wryly.

“We’re just going to see the band, that’s all.”

“It’s alright, Harry,” Lily crooned. “We really like Hermione. She’s a lovely girl. We approve, you know.”

“Approve? Of what?”

Lily cocked a curious eyebrow at him. “Are you really this dense, or just pretending? For I feel it would be harder to pretend, than to come across as dopey as you are!”

“I am not dopey!” Harry protested. “Well, maybe just a little bit. How could I _not_ be, with a father like mine? But what is it you approve of?”

“If you really don’t know, then it doesn’t matter just yet,” Lily smiled softly. “Right, you’d better get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow.”

Lily leaned over and kissed Harry on the head as he snuggled down into his covers. Lily stopped at the door and turned back to her son.

“Light on?”

“No, you can turn it off,” Harry replied brightly. “I’m not really afraid of the dark anymore. Hermione showed me how not to be scared of it.”

“I bet she did,” Lily grinned. “Even more reason to _approve_. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Mum,” Harry returned with a yawn. A minute later and he was snoring away.

Lily watched through a crack in the door until she could mark the passage of the seconds by the rise and fall of Harry’s slumbering shoulders. Then she ambled across the living area and slid onto the sofa. She turned to James, who was over by the kitchen.

“Harry’s asleep,” she swooned softly. This seemed to be an important detail that she’d been waiting to share with him.

James grinned back. “Red or white this evening?”

“Red. But just a small one.”

“We have an ‘85 Cabernet Sauvingon,” James told her, holding the bottle aloft.

Lily nodded her approval as James poured two glasses, before joining her on the sofa and passing her the smaller of the two. She immediately kicked her feet into his lap and he began rubbing her toes.

“This is nice,” Lily purred.

James quirked an eyebrow at her. “The wine or the footrub?”

“Both,” Lily grinned back. “So, what are we toasting this evening?”

“Well, as our son turns twelve years old in the morning, that seems to be the most appropriate thing!” James quipped with his trademark cheeky grin.

“To Harry then!” Lily toasted, clinking her glass against James’. “Twelve years. We’re so lucky, James, to have had this time with him. For the longest time, I never thought we would.”

James sighed, mirroring the chill of sadness flowing from his wife. “Neither did I. What with Voldemort and that damned prophecy, then the Muggle scientists from Annwn, _then_ all those surges of accidental magic … they should have _killed him_ , Lil … I honestly didn’t think he’d survive this long.”

“But he has,” Lily smiled warmly. “And look how strong he’s become! Our son, James! He’s healthy and happy and everything we could have hoped.”

“More even than that,” James smirked.

“What do you mean?” Lily quirked back. “What have you been keeping from me?”

“I had a Floo from Minerva earlier,” James revealed. “First year exam results have been finalised … and our little boy was _top of the year!”_

 _“_ He _was_!” Lily beamed brilliantly. “That’s wonderful! So, so wonderful!”

“You might revise that opinion once Harry knows. He has my ever-inflatable ego, don’t forget!”

“Top of the year!” Lily parroted with a little tear in her eye. “Can I go and hug him for it? I’m so proud.”

“Leave the boy sleep,” James cajoled. “This is me and you time. It’s not all good news anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t think Harry will be completely pleased,” James informed her. “Not when he realises that to come top he had to beat _Hermione_ to the position!”

“Ooh, I didn’t think of that!” Lily grimaced bracingly. “That’s going to be quite a dilemma for him. To be happy - at the cost of Hermione being happy. What a conundrum!”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” James replied. “It’ll be good for him, keep him humble. At least until he sees Hermione, in any case.”

“Why will that make a difference?”

“Because _she’ll_ be so delighted that Harry did so well, that his ego will float him to the moon!” James chuckled. “She’ll give him permission to bask in it and he’ll be doubly smug, for having impressed _her_.”

“He’s so smitten with the girl, isn’t he?” Lily commented fondly. “Though I genuinely don't think he even knows it yet. I wish he’d stay my little boy a tiny bit longer, though. I feel like I’m losing him already.”

“Hey, don’t fret,” James soothed, patting his wife’s feet to distract her from her bout of distress. “A boy will always have need of his mother, no matter how many other girls come into his life. Besides, Harry has plenty of love to go round for all of us.”

“That’s true,” Lily smiled. “We did a good job with him, I think.”

“Well, we’ve gotten him to the edge of being a teenager, without turning him into a stroppy monster!” James agreed. “That’s something. Lessons learned for the next one, eh?”

He leaned over and placed a soft hand to Lily’s belly, rubbing it lovingly. Then they locked eyes.

“When are we going to tell him?”

“Not tomorrow, it’s _his_ day,” Lily replied, her eyes shining as she slid her hand gently over her husband’s. “And I don’t think we should distract him before he returns to school, either. He needs to focus on that.”

“But when he comes home at Christmas, it’ll be obvious,” James grinned at Lily. “Even _Harry_ isn’t that unobservant.”

“Then maybe we should let him find out like that,” Lily pondered. “I prefer him to work things out on his own. He wont learn if he just gets told things all the time.”

“This isn’t one of his Hogwarts tests!” James quipped. “This is about us having another _baby!_ ”

“I know, but the surprise will be fun,” Lily insisted. “No, we wont tell him yet. Let him enjoy his little date tomorrow, then he can go back to school. Then at Christmas we can have a little bet, you and I, to see how long it takes for him to work it out!”

James chuckled. “Okay. I like that. So … do you think he’ll prefer a baby brother or sister?”

“I'd have to think he'd prefer a sister, something to look after and protect, you know?" Lily pondered. "I _hope_ it’s a sister … because that’s what I’m _having_.”

“You don’t know for sure.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“I’m a Mummy. We know these things!”

James laughed again. “You don’t half talk nonsense when you’re pregnant. It’s the funniest thing to see you so illogical.”

“Harry has all that to come then,” Lily considered lightly. “When _his_ logical girl gets in this way!”

James raised his eyebrows at his wife. “You’ve certainly changed your tune about _that_. Making jokes about it now, eh? That’s progress.”

“What can I say, Hermione has grown on me,” Lily returned unabashed. “I think it’s her hair, you know. It’s so lustrous. I’m very jealous. But I’m just _dying_ to have her let me braid it. Maybe I’ll bully her into it when she comes over tomorrow ... say I wont let her see Harry again if she refuses!”

“That’s just cruel,” James admonished falsely. “But I always did like your dark side. Turns me right on. I know we’re already _having_ a baby, but any chance we could practice the _making one_ part again later, for the next time maybe? I need to keep my skills up!”

“You’re such a goon,” Lily laughed. “Why did I ever marry you?”

“Because I’m the love of your life and it just makes sense!”

“I hate when you’re right, but when you are, you are!”

“So … later?”

Lily smiled vampishly, and sipped her wine in just the right way to make James' head spin. “Just keep rubbing my feet … and I’ll have a think about it!”

“Tease!” James quirked.

“You love it.”

James huffed but couldn’t argue. For he really did.

* * *

When Harry emerged from his bedroom the next evening, he was almost overcome with excitement. The concert was less than an hour away and he _literally_ couldn’t wait. He wondered if there was any sort of device in magic that could speed up time, because he wanted the next sixty minutes to go by as quickly as humanly possible.

But when he went into the living room of the flat, he was met with a very unusual sight, and a very unexpected reaction.

For Hermione and Lyra had arrived and were waiting for him. Harry had taken longer than he’d intended, having been dissatisfied with the white face dusting and dark eye make-up he’d spent hours painstakingly applying. He wanted it to be just right. Then he had to choose between his moon goddess and pentacle pendants, and make a final decision on the logo emblazoned t-shirt he was going to wear under his full-length black trenchcoat.

When he was _finally_ finished, Harry thought he looked the part. He was beyond thrilled at the prospect of meeting _Miss Weird_ herself, the devastatingly alluring Maria Edge, and he was reasonably sure this look would impress her.

But he wasn’t the _only_ one who’d changed their look for the night.

For Harry saw immediately that Hermione had done something different with her hair tonight. It was as fluffy as ever, but there was a definite sense of control to the chaos now. Her hair fell in neat waves, rather than the random wildness that Harry was used to. Hermione had also dusted her curls with sparkles and glitter, and woven ribbons of scarlet and purple ringlets into her dark tresses, with one of each colour falling from either temple, framing the porcelain skin of her soft face and matching the light shading she'd applied to her eyes.

Harry swallowed _very_ hard at this shiny, frilled vision of his best friend. It was his heart that responded hardest, thrumming pleasantly as Harry stared from the safety of his bedroom door. There was no other word for it … Hermione looked really _pretty_ , blinding almost … a bit like the sun coming out after the rain, Harry thought.

But it wasn’t just the glitter and ringlet ribbons that caused Harry’s breathing to hitch. For the most curious sight - which may also have been the loveliest - was the one of his mother sitting behind Hermione, twisting some of her hair into an elaborate Celtic Braid. Between each knot, Lily had curled in a pretty white flower - to make a vertical line of them down the centre of the braid - which she’d stuck in place using a spell of some sort. Papageno was sat next to her, overseeing the operation. He nodded in approval as Lily fixed the bottom of the braid with a silver hair-tie.

Hermione’s look was complete, and Harry felt he needed an entirely new vocabulary with which to describe it … or to describe how he felt about it. He wondered how long such a language would take to learn.

“There he is!” James exclaimed as his eyes fell on Harry. “We were about to send Hedwig to deliver a message, to tell you that you were going to be late!”

“Very funny,” Harry retorted, moving across the room.

Hermione looked up at him and smiled sweetly. “Hi. I like your outfit.”

“Hello,” Harry replied, conscious that he was still staring at her, and that she might not like that. “You look … nice.”

Hermione beamed, knowing that was pretty much the best Harry was capable of just now. Her sparkling eyes added to her other sparkly additions, making her too bright to even look at for a moment. But Lyra was having none of it.

“Nice?” she scoffed, playfully shaking her head at Harry. “She looks more than nice … she looks _beautiful.”_

Harry didn’t disagree, not in the slightest. But oddly enough, he couldn’t work out how he was supposed to say that out loud. It was as if he’d forgotten all the words that would express it. So he just nodded instead.

“There, I think we’re done!” Lily announced happily. “I’m really quite pleased with that.”

“It is very pretty,” Papageno complimented. “You cant see it, Hermione, but trust me that it is.”

“Thank you,” Lily grinned, quirking a wry look at Papageno. Harry knew that look, knew how odd it was to talk to a dæmon instead of their human. He was used to it now, and barely noticed that Pap was a cat instead of a person anymore, but Lily was still only just starting out on her relationship with Hermione’s soul-familiar. It was curious to watch how both of them responded to the other.

“Right, we’d better get a move on,” James announced jovially. “Don’t want the birthday boy missing out on his favourite present, do we?”

Hermione shot Harry a questioning look, but he just turned his eyes away shyly. He was pretty sure that she already knew that her gift was by far the best one he’d received that day, but he didn’t want to be disrespectful by admitting that in front of his Mum and Dad. Not that it would have mattered, for he knew that _they_ knew the truth of the situation, anyway, even if they were too good to say so.

James delivered Harry and Hermione to the Diagon Palladium in good time. Before he left them at the door, he hit them both with a tracking spell, just for Lily’s peace of mind, he insisted. Then James waved them goodbye with encouragement to have a good time.

Which they promptly did. The concert was amazing, and Harry had the _best_ time, singing and shouting along with the loud music. He and Hermione even had a sort of dance, which was mostly jumping up and down and making a lot of noise, but Harry was keen not to damage her cute hair arrangement so kept a respectful distance, no matter how close Hermione bounced to him.

Then came the Meet and Greet, which Harry was inordinately excited about. What he _hadn’t_ counted on was for it to change his life forever.

But that’s just what happened.

Now, Harry had seen Maria Edge in lots of pictures, had about a dozen posters of her around his bedrooms both at home and school. But nothing, _nothing_ , could have prepared him for meeting her in real life. He didn’t expect that he was about to be fundamentally changed, as he waited patiently in line for his turn. But then it came … and ten minutes later Harry was a changed man.

For up close and personal, Harry lost his mind - and his heart - to Maria Edge.

Was she a goddess? Harry would have challenged anyone who disagreed with him just then. She was pretty, but in a different sort of way to how Hermione was pretty. This was a smoky, fiery sort of pretty. The sort to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. And Harry was powerless against it. He let the exotic scent of her fill his nostrils, allowed that devastating smile to scorch his eyes.

And then it got worse … because she _recognised him_!

“Harry Potter!” she swooned sultrily, her voice a husky sort of lyrical. “We have a superstar fan! Come here, Harry! This will make the cover of _Esoter-Rock!_ for sure! _”_

Then she dragged in him close for a one-armed hug, as a photographer began snapping away. Harry lost what was left of his mind, as he was pressed tight into the solid mass of Maria’s body, lost in that cloud of her gorgeous perfume, that wafted down as she shook out her golden hair. But when the side of his head came to rest against the soft bounciness of her ample, supple breast, Harry dearly hoped he would die on the spot.

For there was no more perfect time for it in his opinion.

And then it was over and it time to go home. But it was a different Harry Potter that his father came to collect, than the one he’d deposited less than three hours previously.

For Harry Potter was now in love. It had only taken half a hug, and a stunning smile, but Harry's heart had been stolen away in a single beat, one that surely marked the end of his childhood.

And he spent the _entire_ journey home telling his father all about it. All Harry’s sentences began with one word … _Maria_. It was Maria sang this, and Maria wore that. And when it came to the actual _meeting_ with her, Harry’s words tumbled out so fast that it was a miracle his father picked up any of them. It was only when he ran out of breath, which was just about as they were stepping through the door to the flat, that James reminded his son that he hadn’t attended the concert alone.

“And did Hermione have a good time?” James asked him. “I hope you said thank you for giving you such a great gift.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry checked, turning to Hermione. “And you had a good time too, didn’t you?”

It was only then that Harry noticed something off. The light had dimmed in Hermione’s eyes. He wasn’t perfect at reading her emotions, but there was no confusion about what he was seeing there now.

She looked sort of … _sad_. But Harry had no idea why.

Though _she_ wasn’t about to give that away. “Yes,” Hermione replied in a slightly elevated pitch. “It was a really good night.”

“See!” Harry grinned brightly, oblivious as always.

Then he was off again, recounting the entire Maria Edge-shaped story to his mother. Lyra listened too, but she kept flicking glances at Hermione, who had sat quietly nearby with slumped shoulders and a pained expression. Harry hadn’t noticed, but Hermione had starting sadly unwinding the ribbons from her hair already. Pap trotted over to investigate his human, and she scooped him up and held him tight her aching chest.

Harry may not have noticed what was going on, but Lyra was eagle eyed and wily. She knew on instinct that every word of Harry’s story was cutting to Hermione’s heart like a hot knife. It had the first time, and this second retelling was even worse. She keep quiet to not let it show, kept her hands busy so they wouldn’t wring together as a sign of her hurting.

But in the end, Lyra had to come to her rescue, to take her away from this unseen torment.

When Harry drew breath again, Lyra seized her moment. “Well it sounds like a very full evening. And I think at least one half of this pair is wiped out by it. I think it’s time to take my girl back home.”

“Nonsense, why don’t you stay?” Lily suggested. “We have plenty of room, especially with Sirius not here.”

Lyra looked at Hermione, who returned her gaze with pleading eyes.

“No, I think we should return home. But thanks for the offer,” Lyra replied. Then she crossed to Hermione and offered her hand to help her up. “Come on, young lady. Shall we head off?”

“Yes please, Mum,” Hermione replied without thinking, sinking into Lyra’s embrace as she stood. It was an embrace that tightened protectively, as Hermione’s slip passed like music into Lyra’s ear.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Lily double-checked.

“Quite sure,” Lyra smiled. “I don’t think sleeping in Sirius’ bed without his permission would be quite right! No, I’ve got Mal’s car, I’ll get this sleepy little one home in no time.”

Then Lyra guided Hermione to the door of the flat, her arm comfortingly around her shoulders. Harry and his parents went too, to wish them goodnight, but Hermione mumbled hers so faintly that Harry barely caught it. As soon as Lyra and Hermione vanished out of sight into the lift, the others returned to the living area, and Harry turned immediately to his parents with a confused look on his face.

“Have I done something wrong?” he asked uncertainly. “Why do I get the feeling that I’ve done something wrong?”

Lily looked at him with sad pity. “If you don’t _know_ , then I’m afraid you’re not ready to be _told_. In truth, you don’t _deserve_ it.”

Harry frowned at his mother. “What does that mean? Dad?”

“Just what your Mum said, son,” James replied cryptically.

Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that his father was _disappointed_ in him. What exactly had he done? He hadn’t the faintest idea what it might be.

“I’m completely lost,” Harry confessed.

“Now _that_ we can all agree on!” James quirked. “I just hope the situation isn’t terminal.”

Harry had a good grasp of the English language, could converse with snakes and understand dragons … but _speaking in tongues_ was not his thing. Confused and slightly hurt, Harry made his way to bed. It wasn’t the way he’d wanted to end his birthday. After the night he’d had, he’d expected to be exhilarated when he pulled on his pyjamas, with sleep a ridiculous notion. But as he slid under his covers, he was feeling something very different … like he’d broken something he didn’t even know was there.

Harry couldn't figure out what he'd done so badly … he just hoped there’d be a way to fix it when he did.


	4. Another Weird Sister

Hermione took a deep lungful of sea air, letting that ozone fill her senses, and relaxed deeply into the sun lounger. She needed this, a change of scene, something to cheer her up. Maybe get her _blues tanned_ , as Lyra had put it. It was nice, to sit in the sun and think of nothing - which wasn’t something the cerebral Hermione Granger often did - but she could certainly appreciate its merits now.

Lyra was coming back over from the little beach bar. She’d been dying to test out her French as soon as they’d stepped off the aeroplane - or as they were used to calling it, _Frankish_. Lyra was delighted that the language from their world was the same as the one here, despite the different name. Her zeal made it hard for Hermione to be too worried about the cost of this impromptu, last minute holiday, which had been something of a bone of conjecture for her.

“It isn’t _that_ expensive,” Lyra had reassured her when Hermione learned of the surprise, which was sprung on her as they arrived at the airport. “I got it from something called _Teletext_. We booked it, packed it, and took off! I don’t see the problem.”

“I just feel awkward,” Hermione confessed, wringing her hands. “Harry’s parents have been so generous in paying for my Hogwarts tuition. I just cant bear to imagine what they’d think of me for being so frivolous now. Concerts and holidays … it makes me look like such an ungrateful spendthrift!”

“Nonsense,” Lyra laughed. “They’d want you to have a good time. It makes their son happy to see _you_ happy, and they’d have _him_ to answer to if they were cross with you.”

Hermione would have believed that until a week ago, until that rather miscalculated birthday gift! Talk about a backfire! It was all going so well, until the VIP meeting with that vacuous, blonde floozy. If only Hermione had stuck to just the concert tickets and forgot the rest … everything else might have gone to plan.

She thought she’d looked rather pretty that night; _Harry_ certainly seemed to think she looked pretty, if the way he kept sneaking glances at her - when he thought she wouldn’t see - were any indicator. Each one had thrilled Hermione to catch, so she pretended not to pay him attention on purpose, just so he could carry on snatching secret looks at her. Then she was going to tell him he _could_ look if he wanted to … so long as he let her give him a kiss on his birthday. A _proper_ kiss, like the grown-ups did.

That was the plan ... but then some big-boobied megastar had given him a hug … and Harry had fallen under her spell, probably like a thousand other boys before him.

Hermione huffed as she remembered it, trying to not let it spoil her mood. She couldn’t compete with boobs, as her own had only just started growing and it was unreasonable for her to expect Harry to notice them yet. Even Papageno had trouble remembering they were there, as evidenced by how carelessly he dug his claws into Hermione’s chest when settling down for their pre-sleep cuddle every night.

So this was one thing Hermione _couldn’t_ hold against Harry.

Not that she enjoyed trying to find things that she _could_. It was an alien sensation. She was just cross and hurt, she knew that, but this was a whole new kind of both feelings. She was struggling to get used to them, or how they made her ache in ways she didn’t know she _could_ ache before. She’d made such an effort, but it didn’t seem to work. And it created all sorts of new anxieties that Hermione hadn’t experienced before.

Because she was beginning to see now that there was pretty and _pretty_. The sun was pretty, the flowers and trees and the rippling sea were pretty. But then there was the _Maria Edge_ type of pretty, which was so different it might have been a whole other thing. Lyra had that sort of pretty, and as Hermione watched her coming back over with drinks, she tried to analyse it, deconstruct its parts so that she might rebuild it within herself.

Maybe _then_ Harry would notice her again.

So she watched her Mistress as she approached. Lyra had a more contoured frame, more slender and wiry compared to the curvy _Miss Weird_. Lyra was taller, with longer legs. These were firm and toned, and they gave a swell to her hips, though how that might aid the subtle, elegant way they swayed Hermione couldn’t fathom. She tried moving her own hips in that way as she lounged, but she looked more like she had sat on a pinecone and was trying to stop it from poking her. That wasn’t _anyone’s_ idea of graceful and elegant!

Unfortunately, Lyra wasn’t a much better example of attractiveness than Maria, Hermione decided. She had an effortless sort of beauty, she knew it, and she didn’t care if anyone noticed or not. The famous singer, on the other hand, had cultivated her look, made use of her physical assets as part of her persona. Lyra just _was_ … and if you didn’t notice her that was just your own fault.

But Hermione didn’t feel like either of those women. She lacked the confidence of either, but she reasoned that this was normal for a girl her age. She’d just grow into herself as she got older. The problem was, she _wasn’t_ normal, and she wasn’t destined for a normal boy or a normal relationship. They were special, her and Harry, and it was this whisper from her wounded heart that kept her from being _truly_ mad with him.

The problem was, how was she supposed to be attractive for Harry, if all the normal rules were out the window?

“Penny for your thoughts,” Lyra quirked as she finally arrived back at their sunbathing spot. “You look a million miles away.”

“Sorry, I was just daydreaming.”

“Double or quits that I can guess what about,” Lyra smirked. “Or _who_.”

“Am I really so transparent?” Hermione moaned.

“No, but you’ve got the look of a girl crossed in love for the first time,” Lyra smiled kindly. “We’ve _all_ worn that look once, if it makes you feel any better.”

Hermione huffed. “It doesn’t.”

“No, I didn’t think it would!” Lyra laughed. “But here, maybe this will have more success.”

Lyra proffered a glass with a sort of dark pinkish liquid inside. Ice cubes clinked together as Hermione accepted it.

“What is it?” she asked cautiously.

“Just a mix of orange juice and cranberry juice,” Lyra replied, curling her see-through sarong around her legs as she slid down onto her own sun lounger and adjusted her sunglasses. “I’ve got the same … only I have vodka and peach schnapps in mine, too.”

Hermione sniffed warily at the glass, just as Pap leapt up and dipped his nose in it. Then Hermione took a sip … and was pleasantly surprised.

“Mmmm, this is nice,” she hummed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Lyra beamed. “Now, let’s see what else I can do for you. Let’s have some girl time, just me and you.”

Hermione gulped hard. She as much did _and_ didn’t want to discuss this with Lyra, but she knew it was unavoidable. She’d accidentally called her _Mum_ , and Lyra was acting more and more like that role every day. And it was with a confused heart that Hermione noticed that _she_ liked it more and more, too.

So she turned to her Mistress. “What did it feel like … when you found out what Sirius had been doing with all those other girlfriends?”

Lyra smiled at Hermione’s forwardness. She hoped it was a trait she’d never lose.

“Well to start with I was angry and upset, just like you are with Harry,” Lyra began, enjoying the cosiness that rose in her at the sight of Hermione’s cute blush. “Not that I had any right to be angry with Sirius, really.”

“No right?” Hermione scoffed. “But what he was doing -”

“Was just what Sirius does,” Lyra cut in breezily. “He’s a lover. He was _my_ lover, and though he was loving other women too, I was no angel myself. Sirius and I were never a boyfriend/girlfriend type thing … we were never that serious.”

“But did you want to be?” Hermione asked girlishly, hitching her knees up for the story.

“I think we _both_ wanted to be, looking back,” Lyra considered. “But it wasn’t something either of us had honestly come across before. Plus I didn’t want to force Sirius to change, to settle down. There was something in his wild, vagabond nature that attracted me in the first place. I didn’t want him to lose that, to be the _reason_ he lost it. But, if I had to do it over, I’d probably be more assertive, make him see that changing might be worth it.”

“So why _didn’t_ you do that?”

“Truthfully, I don’t think it was Sirius I was afraid of changing … but _me_ ,” Lyra confessed. “I’m a bit wild, a bit savage, a touch untamed. I _like_ those things about myself. But if I demanded that Sirius had to settle down to be with me, then _I’d_ have to do that, too. A bit like being a dæmon, I suppose. And I was frightened of it. Of settling.”

“But it still hurt when you found out what he’d been doing?” Hermione pressed.

“Of course, it was a blow to my pride,” Lyra replied. “I started questioning if I wasn’t enough for him. But I hadn’t given him a reason _not to_ do what he did. And, as I said, I was less than faithful myself. But I think we both did it to almost avoid the truth … that we’d have happily stopped roaming if one or the other asked us to.

“But do you want to know what _really_ hurt? Finding out that Will had married _twice_ in his life. That _really_ scythed to me.”

A sad shadow crossed Lyra’s eyes as she thought about this. Hermione was hit by the strange urge to get up and hug Lyra, and that was totally new for her.

“Will got married?” Hermione hushed. “And that hurt more than Sirius?”

Lyra nodded. “I think it’s because I always held this childish view of Will, fixed from that moment we parted for good. It’s silly, I know, but that’s just what I did. We were your age, but totally in love. We both knew it, and no-one will ever tell me otherwise, tell me that we were too young or any of that nonsense. It was our first love, stupidly powerful as a result, but love nonetheless. I’ve never felt a love like it since, not even with Sirius - though he is the closest I’ve come.

“And I think that part of me has always kept me from properly loving anyone else. Will told me it was the same for him, that I’ve _ruined him_ as a result, but he still got married twice. Which is worse in some ways, because he _lied_ to those women he married. That isn’t the Will I knew and loved. He was all sorts of good and kind and wonderful. Not the kind to deceive people, especially ones that genuinely loved _him._

 _“_ So when he told me that I think I finally let him go, after all these years. Maybe - when we both return to Dust - all will be forgiven and we’ll be together again. But for this life, Will Parry is dead to me. He is a figment of a past life, nothing more.”

“And Sirius is your future?” Hermione asked shyly.

“Maybe,” Lyra grinned back. “Depends if he still wants me.”

“Oh, he does,” Hermione returned confidently. “Harry told me.”

Lyra flushed slightly. “Did he now? Maybe I’ll need to have a chat to your Harry about that, perhaps teach him some date etiquette while I’m at it!”

“No, please don’t!” Hermione begged. “He’ll never forgive me!”

“Forgive you?” Lyra quipped wryly. “I thought _you_ were the one mad at _him?_ ”

“Oh, I am,” Hermione confirmed blandly. “But I’ll get over that … just as soon as I work out how to.”

Lyra chuckled at that. “I wouldn’t be too hard on Harry. He’s a very sweet boy, and I don’t think he has any idea how hurtful his words were to you. If he _did,_ he’d probably crawl all the way out here to France, if he thought that’s what it would take to make it up to you. He’s very taken with you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

That warmed Hermione up immensely. “Do you really think so?”

“It’s the most obvious thing!” Lyra cried. “You’d have to be delusional not to see it!”

“Then why did he say all those things about that _woman_ , and nothing about _me!_?” Hermione spat bitterly. “Wasn’t I pretty enough for him?”

“Oh of course you were, sweetheart!” Lyra consoled. “Didn’t you see how Harry looked at you when he saw you in the flat? Because that isn’t how mere _friends_ look at each other, believe me. And he knew it, too, because he was trying not to let you see that he was staring at you!”

“I _know_!” Hermione giggled, leaning in conspiratorially. “He kept doing it all night at the concert, too. It was really quite sweet … until the disaster that happened later.”

“And you missed out on your first kiss?”

Hermione blushed crimson. “Something like that.”

“And you still want that … with _Harry_?”

Hermione was sure she couldn’t blush any more than she was right now, but silence was not an option. She wanted very badly to confess this to Lyra, and as she thought that, she very nearly replaced Lyra with the word _Mum_ again, only this time it was in her mind. This was becoming a dangerous trend.

“Is … is it weird that I want it _more_ than before?” Hermione asked in an unsure voice. “It sounds silly, but now that he’s talked about another girl, I know he’s probably thought about what it would be like to kiss her. And I don’t want him to think that, I want him to think about kissing _me_. Or, actually, wanting to kiss me more than any _other_ girl. Is there something wrong with me for thinking that?”

Lyra laughed softly. “Nothing at all, honey. You really like Harry and you want him all to yourself. The problem is you’re a bit more developed than he is, and he needs to catch up. What you’re feeling is perfectly natural, just like this little crush of his.”

“It is?”

“Of course, it’s all part of growing up,” Lyra replied. “You’ll have crushes yourself, I’m sure. And just like yours will pass, _his_ will too. Just try not to torture him too much when this situation happens the other way around. Bitterness and vengeance aren’t the staples of a healthy relationship!”

Hermione giggled. “But I _can_ tease him with it?”

“I’d expect you too! It’s the duty of lovers to playfully tease each other every now and then. Keeps them reminded of what they have if they ever lose sight of it.”

“Then what should I do, do you think?” Hermione asked. “Harry has sent me three owls since his birthday and I haven’t replied to a single one of them. I’ve just been too cross with him.”

“ _Three_ owls!” Lyra exclaimed humorously. “The poor boy must be worried out of his mind! I can only imagine what you’re putting him through, Hermione!”

“Oh dear, have I been really bad?” Hermione yelped anxiously.

“No more than he was to you,” Lyra replied. “Besides, it doesn’t hurt to be made to dangle a bit in cases like these. He’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” said Hermione, uncertainly. “So, what would you do, if you were me?”

“I’d assume your role in his life … as his guide,” Lyra told her simply. “Harry needs to see what he’s done, understand why it was bad and be given chance to make amends. But this is a lesson you have to deliver in subtle ways. Give him a taste of how you feel, but don’t push it too far. He’s gotten used to your attention, but maybe you need to make him earn it all over again.”

“How?”

“By not being prissy about his crush, for a start,” Lyra advised. “It’s just a crush, nothing more. That singer is a grown woman, she’s just a fantasy right now, Harry’s first one. Let him have it … but find one of your own. If I’m right about Harry, he will hate to see his behaviour reflected in you. And he’s a smart and cognizant sort of boy … he’ll see what he’s been doing and drop his crush in a heartbeat, if he thinks he risks losing you over it.”

“Do you really think so?” Hermione flushed, hopefully.

“I really do, just don’t target a real potential rival,” Lyra warned. “Don’t start making moves on, say, the Weasley boy you mentioned.”

“Eww, Lyra!” Hermione shrieked in disgust. “That’s a horrible thought! Urgh! Id never do that! It wouldn’t just be cruel to Harry, but a violation against myself and all things _girl_! Kissing Ron Weasley … it’s enough to make me vomit at the mere thought!”

Lyra laughed deeply. “We’ll keep _that_ punishment for when Harry _really_ upsets you then!”

“No, we really wont,” Hermione disagreed. “I’d rather kill Harry than do that to him … or _me_!”

“Okay then. So … anyone else that fits the bill? Who would really get under Harry’s skin for you to crush on? Any teachers at school, maybe?”

Hermione’s face lit up as the _perfect_ idea came to her. She beamed at Lyra.

“Oh, _yes_ , I think I have just the man!” she sang happily. “Ooh, Pap! Go and grab me some paper and a pen! I've got that stupid dream diary in my bag, that will do. Lyra, tell me some of the things I need to do. Harry _really_ wont like me doing this, but it’s for his own good, isn’t it?”

“For the good of you _both_ ,” Lyra laughed. “Right, we need a name for this caper. Any suggestions?”

Hermione scrunched her eyebrows as she thought. “How about the ‘ _Campaign for the Listing and Implementation of Teasing Objectives and the Resulting Intimacy with my Soulmate’?_ ”

“It’s catchy, but I’m not sure I like the acronym for that,” Lyra quirked dryly.

“Wah … _oh_ ,” Hermione giggled as she worked it out. “Perhaps not then. Ah! I’ve got it!”

“Hit me.”

“Project _Lock (Harry’s) Heart_ ,” Hermione beamed. “That sounds better. Yes, that’s what we’ll go for. I just hope Harry sees the funny side … once his _lesson_ is over!”

* * *

September the First rolled around after a _very_ long month for Harry. The deeply concerning silent treatment he seemed to be getting from Hermione left him listless and lonely. He spent much of August moping around the flat, refusing the numerous entreaties from James and Lily to enjoy the Summer sunshine while he still had chance. Instead, he kept to his room with Hedwig for company, listening to music and trying to cheer himself by looking at the picture he’d had taken with Maria Edge, which had indeed made the cover of _Esoter-Rock!_ Magazine.

But even _this_ wasn’t anything like as soothing as Harry needed it to be. He loved _The Weird Sisters_ , could drown in their music. But it was so much better when he had Hermione there to drown alongside him. Without her, it had lost some it’s spirit.

He just couldn’t work out what he’d done to upset her so much.

For he knew that’s what it must be. Hermione was nothing if not polite … she wouldn’t simply ignore his letters without good reason. After the first one earned no response, Harry became fitfully concerned. It just wasn’t like Hermione to not reply the same day. Poor Hedwig could testify to _that_.

So Harry reasoned that there were two possibilities - Hermione was unable to respond, or she was _unwilling_ to respond. He was able to dispel the first possibility right away, when Minerva McGonagall came by one evening and said she’d just been to deliver Hermione’s exam results to her personally. They’d been of such a high standard that Minerva thought they deserved a home visit, along with a little trophy as a reward.

Harry beamed with pride when Minerva told him about that … then was stunned into silence when she informed Harry that he had done _better_ than his best friend.

That was impossible, he argued. Hermione was the best in the year by a country mile. But the results didn’t lie. Harry had outscored Hermione enough in some of their classes to have beaten her by three clear marks in total. It took a whole day to get his head around that, and Harry immediately sent Hermione another letter once he had, to tell her that he was going to demand a recount of the marks, as there most certainly had been a mistake.

But when _that_ letter didn’t yield a reply, Harry knew he was facing Option Number Two … Hermione was _unwilling_ to write back to him. In many ways, Harry thought, this was worse than Option Number One.

Was she mad at him for coming top of the year, at her expense, Harry wondered. That was his first thought, but he dismissed it at once. Hermione was not any sort of petty. If anything, she was his own personal cheering section, and he’d have thought she’d be happy that he’d run her so close, for he was still convinced that he couldn’t possibly have beaten her academically.

So if not that, then what?

His mother and father seemed to know, but steadfastly refused to tell him, which led to Harry dishing out his own version of the silent treatment for a few days. It took Hedwig refusing to sit with him in his funk for Harry to realise he was being so childish, so he went crawling back to his mother with eyes full of apologies, until she made them both big mugs of hot chocolate and told Harry stories about her and James from their time at Hogwarts.

That made him feel better. But in terms of getting Hermione to speak to him, Harry realised, he would have to work that one out on his own.

And his first resolution was to get the bottom of whatever he’d done as soon as possible. He gave up on letters after the third one came back empty. His best hope now was to wait until the return to Hogwarts, where he might be able to tackle Hermione in person. He was determined to talk to her, tie her down if necessary, until she was his friend again.

On September the First Harry was up and ready early, and chomping at the bit to get to Kings Cross. As such, they were there over an hour before the train was due. This had a knock on effect that Harry could have done without. The Weasleys arrived early too, and Molly noticed that Sirius wasn’t with the Potters and so made a beeline for them in search of an explanation. Harry, who couldn’t stand the Weasley parents, made his excuses, kissed his parents goodbye and headed onto the platform with Hedwig on his arm, just to get away from them.

So Harry sat there, solitary and morose and with his eyes fixed on the barrier, waiting for that shock of bushy hair to come bounding through. Families came and moved on, the train arrived in a billow of smoke and very soon the entire platform was a cacophony of bustling students, squawking and meowing animals, and floating stories about how the Summer holidays had been for everyone.

And that was how Hermione found Harry, sat all alone with Hedwig on his slumped shoulders, looking very sorry for himself.

The first sight of Harry thawed the ice on Hermione's bruised heart and she gave in to a big smile. Lyra looked down at her with a grin that said, quite plainly, _‘go on’._ So she did, creeping up behind Harry until she was close enough to cover his eyes with her hands.

Then she struck.

 _“Boo!”_ she breathed into his ear, giggling as Harry jumped in fright.

“Hermione!” Harry yelped, spinning around whilst trying to ignore the tingly feeling that Hermione’s hot breath had sent racing down his spine. “You scared me”

“That was sort of the point!” Hermione grinned, turning her trunk onto its side and sliding it next to Harry’s, before sitting down by him.

“Why haven’t you answered my letters?” Harry blurted out at once, obliterating any ideas of caution he might have been entertaining. “Have I done something to upset you? I really hope I haven't.”

“Upset me? Oh no, Harry, I’m fine,” Hermione assured him with a little white lie.

“Then why have you been ignoring me?”

“I haven’t been,” she replied brightly. “I’ve just been having some problems … you know … _big girl_ problems.”

Harry frowned a while, then his eyes went wide and round as comprehension dawned. “ _Oh_ … is that what this is?”

Hermione couldn’t help but beam. She’d missed Harry’s cute naivety. How was she ever supposed to stay mad at him when he could melt her so easily?

But she had to at least _try_. “Yes, Harry, that’s what this is. I’ve just needed some girl time with Lyra. She took us away to the South of France to celebrate.”

“Girls _celebrate_ that kind of thing?” Harry asked in wonder. “Wow.”

“Well it’s the time you stop being a girl and start becoming a young woman,” Hermione remarked airily. “That’s worth marking, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” Harry agreed, shifting awkwardly on his trunk. He was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to pursue this line of conversation with a girl, though, so he changed it. “Was France nice?”

“Yes, it was great. The resort was pretty, the weather was nice and sunny, and we went swimming in the sea, and rambling to some local magical sites, and all sorts. I re-wrote half of my _History of Magic_ homework just to include some of the local legends I found out about. It was funny taking a quill and parchment to the beach, you know, but nicer than working in our stuffy apartment in Oxford. I had a really good time, actually.”

“That’s good. I’m glad. And it was just you and Lyra?”

“Yes.”

"For three whole weeks?"

"Yes."

“With a whole bunch of French people?”

“Well, of course, as it was _France_.”

“And did you make any friends out there? Meet anyone our age?”

Hermione grinned shrewdly to herself, finally guessing where Harry was going with this. Was it too early to start teasing him? She decided it was.

“No. Lyra and I kept to ourselves.”

“ _Good_ ,” Harry breathed in a relief so pointed it surprised them both. “So … are we sharing a compartment today?”

“I would hope so,” Hermione replied. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know,” Harry returned, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wasn’t sure if you were talking to me … so …”

Harry’s voice tailed off. He turned his head and looked away guiltily.

“You really have been worrying about this, haven’t you?” Hermione asked lightly anxious, leaning forward and curling her head around to look in Harry’s eyes. She wasn’t as comfortable as Lyra when it came to playing these little games. Harry looked like he was really quite hurt by her radio silence. “Hey … hey, it’s alright. I just needed some head space, that’s all. I’m sorry if you think I’ve been ignoring you, but I really haven’t. I promise.”

“Really?” Harry asked, hopefully.

“Really,” Hermione smiled. It was as much an inward smile - thrilled that Harry had obviously been missing her - as it was an outward one. It shattered her resolve for _the plan_ for the day. She’d have to rebuild it tomorrow. “Come on, the train is boarding. Don’t want it to leave without us!”

Harry really didn’t want that. Imagine the shame! So he quickly helped Hermione with their luggage, they found a free carriage towards the end of the train and settled down in an empty compartment to natter incessantly about anything they could think of. After a month apart, they had a _lot_ of lost talking to make up for.

Now Harry and Hermione may not have missed the train back to school ... but someone else _had_.

It was about lunchtime that this incredible feat of stupidity became the talk of the Express. Harry and Hermione knew that something was coming, as door after door of the adjoining compartments slammed shut in sequence. As the slamming drew closer, this din was joined by animated voices. Something was going on, and it was only a matter of time before Harry and Hermione found out what it was.

Then their compartment door was abruptly wrenched open and a blonde haired girl stuck her head through the gap.

“Is my brother in this compartment?” the girl demanded.

“I’m sorry?” Harry retorted. “Who?”

“My brother!” the girl snapped angrily. Then she squeaked as she recognised Harry and asked, far more quietly, “Is my brother in here?”

“It might help if we knew who your brother was,” Hermione replied coolly, scowling at the swooning sweetness the girl’s voice had taken on.

“Oh, don’t be stupid, you know my brother!” the girl shrieked. “Ron … Ron Weasley.”

Harry did a double-take. If she hadn’t told them who she was, Harry would never have recognised Ginny Weasley … a _blonde-headed_ Ginny Weasley. Now what was _that_ all about?

“No, Ron isn’t in here. We haven’t seen him,” Hermione told Ginny. “Is he not on the train?”

“I don’t know,” she said tearfully. “I don’t think he can be. I’ve searched everywhere. My other brothers think it’s really hilarious, but I don’t. Not at all.”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Harry offered consolingly.

“If you do see him, will you tell him I’m looking for him?” Ginny asked pitifully.

“Of course.”

“Thanks. See you, Harry.”

And then she went away. Hermione turned to Harry with an ugly scowl.

“She fancies you. Did you know?”

Harry blushed a red as deep as the setting sun. “I - I don’t think so. Why do you think so?”

“Why?” Hermione replied simply. “Well, you’re a hero - which only got worse after last year - and you’re a bit dramatic because of your background. Oh, and you’re cute, too. That doesn’t hurt. All in all, you’re pretty fanciable.”

“I - I am?” Harry stuttered. This train compartment was way too stuffy. He needed to open a window or something.

Hermione held back a grin. She was finding it deliciously easy to make Harry squirm. And it was a fun game, too. “I’d say so. Ginny Weasley certainly thinks you are. Why else would she try and look like a reject from _The Weird Sisters_ if she didn’t? She obviously thinks you prefer blondes.”

“I don’t prefer anything!” Harry protested. He wasn’t even sure what the difference was, but there was obviously something Hermione knew about this that he didn't.

“Don’t worry, Harry, I’ll protect you,” Hermione assured him stoutly.

“You will? How?”

“I could wee on you? Mark you with my scent! That might put other girls off!”

“Eww! No thanks!” Harry replied, turning a bit green as Hermione burst out laughing. “Haven’t you got any other ideas? Something a bit more hygienic … or _sane_?”

“I’ll think of something!” Hermione laughed, wiping her eyes. Then she blinked in shock at something outside the window.

“What? What is it?” Harry asked, sitting up as Hermione continued to stare in wide-eyed disbelief through the glass.

“Oh, nothing, it’s just that … I’ve found Ron Weasley. He’s out there … in a _flying car!”_


	5. Raving Fans

“What do you mean _Ron’s in a flying car_?”

Hermione scoffed at Harry. “Do you really need me to explain that sentence? Which bit is confusing you!”

“All of it!” Harry exclaimed.

He was about to take a look at this impossibility for himself, when the compartment door opened again and Neville Longbottom burst in dramatically.

“Have you seen? Have you seen?!” he panted. “Ron Weasley is flying a car to school!”

Neville dived to the window, pointing animatedly through the glass. Harry curled his head over Neville’s wildly gesticulating arm and peered out.

“What. An. Idiot!” Harry shook his head. “What the hell is he playing at?”

“He must have missed the train,” Neville suggested. “I saw him talking to his Mum on the platform. She was trying to wipe dirt from his nose - really, I don’t know how he manages to get so grubby all the time - but she was eating a pie and smeared gravy all over his face. It must have taken so long to clean up that the train left without him.”

“But where in the hell would he get a flying car from?” Harry wondered.

“Must be from his Dad,” Neville surmised. “He heads the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry. My Gran told me.”

“So, what? … _he’s_ misusing Muggle artefacts now?” Hermione exclaimed.

“Must be … _there’s_ the proof!” said Neville, beckoning her to look again at the battered Ford Anglia that was shadowing the Hogwarts Express from just below the cloud deck.

By now, _most_ of the train seemed to be watching. Smatterings of applause and whooping could be heard along the carriages as people started to notice. Even Harry found himself transfixed by the sight. It was like watching a car crash in motion … Harry just hoped that wouldn’t be how this came to an end …

“I wonder how Ron even knew how to fly the thing,” Neville mused after an hour or two. He had decided to stay in their compartment, to help Harry and Hermione eat their way through the obscene mountain of sweets that Harry had bought for them from the trolley.

“I can only assume it’s simple to do … if _Ron_ managed it,” Harry quipped back. “Probably just press a button and off you go.”

“Well he’s going to be in terrible trouble when we arrive at Hogwarts,” Hermione warned. “Apart from the theft, and the enchantment of the object to start with, Ron’s an idiot - he’s _bound_ to have been seen by Muggles on the ground. That violates the International Statute of Secrecy in a dozen ways at least. I cant imagine what his punishment will be.”

“He’ll probably get off on grounds of mercy,” Harry guffawed. “He’s not guilty of any of those things … he’s only guilty of being Ronald Bilius Weasley. _That_ is his true crime … it is also his _punishment_!”

Neville burst out laughing. “Harry, you’re too wicked! Your humour is sharper than the Sword of Gryffindor!”

“Thanks,” Harry grinned. “So, how was your Summer?”

Then Neville was off, launching into a retelling of his last two months. When he touched on seeing Harry in various cover stories - including screaming blue jealousy that he’d been embraced by Maria Edge - Hermione huffed and took out a book from her bag.

 _“Voyages with Vampires_?” Harry scoffed, reading the cover. “I wouldn’t waste your time on that tat.”

“Tat?” Neville cried, scandalised. “You realise that’s a _Lockhart_ book? He’s only the greatest adventurer of our age!”

“Not to mention our amazing new Defence Professor,” Hermione added. Harry could see a smirk in her eyes where she glanced up over the rim of her book. “Our _entire_ Defence reading list consists of Lockhart’s books, remember. You should read them … he’s quite an extraordinary wizard. I’m so excited to see what he can teach us this year.”

“You two should start a fan club,” Harry derided. “The Gilderbugs, or something.”

Hermione put down her book carefully. “You know, Neville, that’s not a bad idea, is it?”

“No, I actually like it!” Neville hooted. “Let’s do it, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s,” Hermione agreed, narrowing her eyes teasingly at Harry. “The initiation will be eating some Foam Fangs - in honour of Gilderoy’s time with the vampires. You take one and I’ll take one, Nev. Harry - are you sure you wont join us? Last chance!”

“I’d rather be bitten by a _real_ vampire,” Harry sniped. “No _thank_ you!”

“Suit yourself,” Hermione replied. She tapped her Foam Fangs against Neville’s. “To Gilderoy!”

“To Gilderoy!” Neville echoed. Then they ate the sweets in unison. “I cant understand your problem with him, Harry. He’s a hero, a legend!”

“He’s a slick, pompous, smarmy cretin,” Harry corrected acidly. “And I don’t trust _anyone_ who has more teeth than the entire Osmond Family!”

“Who are the Osmond Family?”

“Nevermind.”

The clouds had come in by the time the Hogwarts Expressed came to halt at Hogsmeade train station. The blue skies of Middle England had given way to the granite grey of the Scottish Highlands. The Cairngorm mountains loomed in the near distance, and somewhere amidst its crags and crevices was where Hogwarts castle was hidden.

As Harry stood and shivered with Neville and Hermione on the station platform, his mind was already yearning for the roaring fires and delicious feast that was awaiting them up at the ancient school. He watched as Hagrid corralled all the new first-years towards the boats that would take them across the lake, remembering his own trip a year ago. The time felt like it had flown by.

Then they were moving in small groups of five and six from the station. Harry shuffled along behind Neville and Hermione - who were still nattering about all things Lockhart - when he felt someone come up close on his elbow.

“Hi, Harry. Do you have space in your carriage for two more?”

Harry looked to his right to see Sally-Anne Perks and Hannah Abbott loitering hopefully nearby. Hannah was carrying her black cat and Sally was holding her broomstick in her spare hand. The _other_ hand had curled around Harry’s forearm.

“Yeah, we have room,” Harry returned brightly. “Hop in.”

Hermione turned her head as the conversation reached her ears. She glanced down at Sally-Anne, who was still clinging to Harry as she thanked him for allowing them to share carriages and began asking if he’d had a fun Summer off. Hermione fumed so viciously at the sight that steam might have risen from her ears.

“Ooh, these steps are high, aren’t they?” Sally-Anne commented as she tried to get into the carriage. “Can you help me, Harry?”

“Of course,” Harry replied. He took the broomstick in one hand and offered his other to help Sally-Anne jump up into the cart. Then he helped Hannah and Hermione up in the same fashion. Neville had no such luck.

“Chivalry doesn’t extend to me, then?” Neville quirked, as Harry withdrew his hand.

“Not with this gentleman,” Harry grinned back. Then he jumped up into the cart himself.

Hermione had kept Harry a seat next to her, while Neville sat on her other side, so Sally-Anne sat directly opposite Harry, with Hannah and her cat sat in the middle. Harry handed Sally back her broom as the cars began to move.

“A Nimbus? Nice,” Harry complimented. “Good brooms, aren’t they?”

“The best,” Sally nodded enthusiastically. “I saw you flying the 2001 model at _Hooch and Hardbroom’s_ over the Summer. I’m _so_ jealous.”

“Were you there? I didn’t see you,” Harry replied. “You should have come over and said hello. We could have had a race.”

“Oh no, I didn’t want to intrude,” Sally told him piously. “I saw you there with your Dad. I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt.”

“That wouldn’t have mattered,” Harry replied off-handedly. “It would have been nice to have a bit of competition, actually. My Dad had to make do with a Comet or a Cleansweep. I might as well have been racing Ron Weasley’s flying car for all the chance I had of losing!”

“Ooh, did you _see_ that!” Hannah piped up excitedly. “That’s going to be legendary, that is! Arriving by flying car … they’ll be talking about that for years.”

“Only if Ron gets expelled, which he probably _will_ ,” Hermione cut in sternly. _“I_ don’t think breaking fifty laws is something to be celebrated. Do _you_ , Harry?”

“What? Oh, no, of course not,” Harry climbed down, after seeing Hermione’s spiky look. “But Ron would. He seems the sort who’d enjoy a bit of fame."

Well, if it was _fame_ Ron wanted …

_CRASH!!!_

There was a huge crunch of twisting metal that echoed through the night. All five of them jumped as they heard it, then Neville stuck his head out of the side of the carriage.

“Oh, sweet Merlin!” he cried. “Ron crashed the car! Right into that really old tree on the grounds. You know the one … it’s the one that hits you if you get too close.”

“The _Whomping Willow_?” asked Sally, standing to look out of her window. “Oh, I do hope Ron’s okay. Woah!”

She cried out as the carriage suddenly skidded to an abrupt halt … and Sally fell backwards and found herself in Harry’s _lap_.

“Oh! Sorry, Harry!” she giggled. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. You?”

“Fine. You make a comfy crash mat, you know.”

“Right, out we get!” Hermione called out briskly. “Chop chop. Up you get, Sally-Anne.”

Hermione actually _pushed_ Sally from Harry’s lap and back to her seat. Then she urged Harry out of the carriage by perpetually poking him until he moved.

“Help me down, Harry?” Hermione asked sweetly, holding out her hand. Harry took it and helped her exit the carriage, but when they were safely back on Terra Firma Hermione didn’t let go. “This way, Harry.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for the others?” Harry asked, looking back as Hermione hurried him across the courtyard towards the lights of the castle.

“Neville can manage that,” Hermione replied brightly. “Looking forward to dinner? I am. I’m _starving_. Ooh, and we get to watch our first Sorting, too! This ought to be such a fun night!”

Harry noticed Hermione had put on a very bizarre tone. It was positively sing-songy. How strange. Nice, but still very odd behaviour for his best friend.

They were still holding hands when they reached the Entrance Hall. Harry didn’t see any need to let go, and as Hermione seemed happy to keep their fingers interlocked too he assumed it was okay. They were getting some funny looks, though, but Hermione didn’t seem too bothered about that, either. She just beamed widely at anyone who came by.

Neville and the others finally caught up with them as they reached the Great Hall. Harry noticed that both Sally and Hannah glanced down at Harry and Hermione’s linked hands, and Hermione spotted it too and clutched on a little tighter, which had the effect of making Harry stagger a bit closer to her. But Hermione didn’t mind that at all, and simply held on firmer still to keep him in place.

“Well, enjoy the Feast, girls,” Neville quipped in a jovial tone.

“Thanks,” Hannah smiled back. “We will.”

“Yeah, thanks. And Harry,” Sally added, flicking her eyes down again. “If you fancy a Nimbus race sometime next week let me know. I bet I could give you a run for your money.”

There was no doubt about it, Hermione _definitely_ grabbed hold tighter... and _on purpose_ this time. She practically pulled Harry behind her, positioning herself as a kind of shield in front of him.

“Harry’s busy next week,” Hermione replied in a low, stern tone.

“Doing what?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Sally-Anne. “I’ll think of _something_.”

“The week after then?”

“Busy,” Hermione snapped. “And the week after that, too. In fact, Harry wont have much time for anything for at least a month. If he gets a spare day, we’ll let you know.”

Then Hermione guided Harry away to the Gryffindor table and safety.

“I’m busy?” Harry queried in confusion as they sat down, finally letting go of each other. “What am I doing?”

“I don’t know, but it wont be anything with _her_ ,” Hermione scythed darkly.

Harry went to ask more questions, but then the Sorting began. Half way through, a very triumphant looking Severus Snape marched Ron Weasley into the Hall and plonked him down next to his own chair at the staff table to eat. The entire Hall watched in a sort of mesmerised trance at the display, observing the sort of breathless quiet usually reserved for when the end of term exams were conducted in here. Ron was flushing as red as his hair and the whole room held their breath, as though waiting for Snape or Dumbledore to turn into a real-life Howler or something.

But all that happened was that Dumbledore took Ron off to a room at the back of the Hall once he’d given out his Start of Term announcements, much to the furious chagrin of Snape and most of the Slytherin table.

“I sort of feel sorry for Ron,” Hermione said as they climbed the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower after the Feast. “Imagine being expelled. It must be awful.”

“You make it sound like a fate worse than death!” Harry smirked.

“Well … _isn’t_ it?” she replied shrilly

Neville guffawed behind them. “You _really_ need to sort out your priorities, Hermione!”

Then they all tumbled through into the Common Room, joining the surge as the two hundred or so Gryffindors headed for their dorms. All except for Harry, who had veered off towards the middle of the room.

“Goodnight, then,” Hermione chirped, before noticing Harry moving in the wrong direction. “Er … Harry? Your room is this way.”

Hermione pointed towards the flow of boys making their way up to the male dormitories to illustrate her point.

“Do you want to hold his hand all the way up there, too?” Lavender Brown grinned as she passed. “It’s a long walk to the top of the tower!”

“Maybe you can have a little goodbye smooch on the stairs?” Fay Dunbar added with a cheeky wink.

“Yeah, because you’re going to be apart for a whole _eight hours_ till breakfast,” Parvati teased

“Hush you lot!” Hermione replied blushing crazily. “Just go to bed, will you!”

“We will. Just remember, Hermione,” Fay warned in mock seriousness. “Our dorm is _this_ way! This one!”

She pointed theatrically towards the girl’s staircase until Hermione hissed at her under her breath and pushed her off with a little giggle. Then she turned back to Harry.

“Seriously though, Harry, what _are_ you doing?”

For Harry had now sat on his knees in the middle of the floor and taken out a little black pouch from inside a pocket in his robes. Hermione watched curiously until she recognised the pouch and its contents.

“Is that the set of Runestones I bought you for Christmas?” she asked, sitting on the sofa to see what Harry was up to.

“Yeah,” he replied idly, choosing stones with deliberate purpose and placing them just so around him. “I’m just making a basic ritual circle with them.”

“What for?”

“As an aid to sleep, that’s all,” Harry explained. “It will help me clear my head. It will be too chaotic upstairs tonight, so I’ll do it down here instead.”

“Why do you need help sleeping?” Hermione asked in concern, slipping off the sofa to sit next to Harry on the floor.

Harry looked up at her and blinked solemnly. “I was stressed, when I thought I’d done something to upset you. I could barely sleep with it. So my Mum and Dad taught me some meditation exercises, ways to siphon off my negative energy and channel it into the Runes, which turns it into a force of charge. If you like, I can show you how to do it.”

“I don’t have any problems sleeping, Harry,” Hermione replied sternly. She was cross with Harry for not telling her about this, and a bit cross with _herself_ for causing it.

“It’s still useful, though,” Harry argued. “And the Runes don’t work properly if they aren’t charged with energy, so it’s a handy way of doing that, too.”

“But why tonight?” Hermione pressed, sliding an inch closer. “I’ve already said I wasn’t ignoring you. You don’t have to be stressed about that anymore.”

Harry swallowed and coloured a little. “I know, but ... it isn’t _just_ that.”

“What then?”

“It’s … being back here,” Harry mumbled. “It’s the first time since … well, you know. Since Quirrell, and all that.”

Hermione felt her heart spill into her chest cavity. She hadn’t really thought about that, about _that_ night. She knew that Harry had complained of a few nightmares after it, but she hadn’t suffered anything similar.

But, then again, Lord Voldemort hadn’t put his hands on _her_.

Hermione hadn’t considered how badly this might have affected Harry, that it might have carried some sort of lingering effect. But now it was clear that it _had_ … and Harry had kept it from her.

“I didn’t want you to know,” Harry muttered in response to her soft yet demanding look. “I didn’t want to bother you with it. It’s silly, I know …”

“It _isn’t_ silly,” Hermione sighed in sympathy. She reached out to pat Harry’s thigh consolingly, but the Rune circle repelled her. “Harry … what is this?”

“Oh, sorry, I have to let you in to the circle,” Harry explained. “It’s protective magic, see.”

“Then let me in.”

“Oh, right.”

So Hermione tried again. She reached over and took Harry’s hand this time, his resistance broken.

“I want you to promise me something,” Hermione hushed gently.

“If I can _keep_ it, then I’ll promise,” Harry vowed faithfully.

“You’ll promise to talk to me about this if it continues,” Hermione went on. “I don’t like the idea of you suffering in silence. I’m your best friend, I’m here for just that sort of thing, you know!”

“Okay,” Harry grinned. “I can do that. Thank you, Hermione. And I am sorry. I know you said I _didn’t_ upset you over the Summer, but I know I did. You’re just too good to be honest about it. But I _will_ find out what it was, and make it up to you ten-fold.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to blush shyly. “There is something you can do for me, if you like.”

“Name it.”

“Stay away from Sally-Anne Perks!” Hermione laughed heartily. “I don’t like her.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Her nose is too cute,” Hermione explained thoughtfully. “I wont ask you to _break it_ for me, like in some freak Quidditch accident or something, just steer clear of it, please.”

“Alright. That’s weird, but alright,” Harry smirked back. “Now. I have to meditate.”

“Can I watch?”

“If you want, but it isn’t very exciting,” Harry told her.

“Not exciting?” Hermione scoffed. “You’re _Harry Potter_! ‘Exciting’ is your middle name!”

“I’ll have to have a word with my parents about _that_ ,” Harry chuckled. “What were they thinking? Now, I need quiet. Can you do that?”

“I can do that,” Hermione parroted.

“You, er, need to take your hand away for this bit, though.”

“Oh … right. Of course.”

Hermione withdrew her hand slowly and watched Harry work. His circle was reformed and a sweep of magic sealed it shut. Hermione felt the spell current flutter through her hair as it passed her. That was new. Harry fell into a deep trance, breathing low and steady. Hermione could see little strands of energy, in many different colours, leave Harry’s heaving body and flow into the Runestones around him. He seemed in such utter control of whatever it was he was doing, that Hermione couldn’t help but be in a bit of awe at the display. She felt a shy sort of pride that Harry was so powerful, and that he was letting her see that side of him.

And she was also deeply covetous of something else … that Harry had showed her his _vulnerable_ side. That was new for him, too. He put on such a brave face to the outside world, but he was comfortable enough to share his worries and stresses with her alone. She stole them from him and stored them in her own heart, owning them as if they belonged to her.

She smiled at that as she watched Harry meditate, wondering just how long it would be before _all_ of him belonged to her.

* * *

There were two surprising things at breakfast the next morning.

The first was that there was a clutch of people at the Gryffindor table surrounding Ron Weasley, who _hadn’t_ been expelled. So maybe that was _three_ surprising things, Harry considered. This crowd wanted to know all about his exploits in the flying car and Ron was animatedly regaling them with the tale. And he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the attention.

That cheered Harry, who was able to stroll along with Hermione and Neville for company without all eyes turning his way for once. They ate in a pleasant mood, Neville nattering excitedly about their first class of the day - Herbology - while Hermione had her head planted inside the pages of another of Gilderoy Lockhart’s ' _Th_ _e Incredible Adventures of My Amazing Life'_ book series again, with _Gadding with Ghouls_ being her breakfast tome of choice. Harry just shook his head in exasperation as he watched Hermione’s eyes speeding across the pages, oblivious to the happenings of the world around her.

But then Harry’s mood took a nosedive. For as soon as they left for their first class, Harry was aware that he was being closely watched. He wasn’t sure from _where_ , but he was sure all the same.

Then there was a bright flash from around a dim corner of one of the spiral staircases.

Harry snapped his head towards it. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” Hermione asked, following his line of sight.

“That flash of light,” Harry replied.

“What flash of light? I didn’t see one.”

“You didn’t? Huh,” Harry shrugged. Maybe it was a trick of the eye, sunlight glinting off one of the suits of armour or something. Yes, that would be it. Harry put it from his mind and fixed his thoughts back on Herbology.

Which was useful, as it was a tricky lesson to start the year. Re-potting baby mandrakes … hardly anyone’s idea of a gentle re-introduction to school life.

“Now, can anyone tell me some of the key uses of the mandrake?” asked Professor Spout.

Hermione’s hand shot into the air first, which surprised no-one. Expect for Harry, who was standing so close to her that he had to body swerve to avoid Hermione’s hand taking his eye out. He glowered at her crossly as she mouthed a giggly little ‘ _sorry.’_

“Miss Granger,” Professor Sprout encouraged.

“The mandrake is useful in making powerful restoratives,” Hermione recited from _A Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi._ “And they can also be used in, er, fertility potions and treatments.”

She blushed furiously as she said this last part, just as Lavender and Parvati whistled pointedly at her and Harry. Harry looked at Neville, who just shrugged back, equally as befuddled.

“Excellent, Miss Granger,” Professor Sprout beamed. “Take ten points for your correct answer.”

“But, Professor,” Harry pointed out fairly. “That was _two_ answers.”

“Then you may also take ten points, Mr Potter, for swift mathematics on behalf of Miss Granger,” Professor Sprout replied. Hermione just swooned to herself, as Fay nudged her with her shoulder. “Right, earmuffs on. These _babies_ are loud!”

And she wasn’t lying. The mandrakes screeched and screamed as they were un-potted. The Gryffindors were taking this class with the Slytherins, and it was unclear which set of students was more unhappy about this. Millicent Bulstrode was so disgusted at having to share a pot with Dean Thomas that she forgot to put on her earmuffs … and promptly collapsed when the mandrake shrieked in her face and ruptured an eardrum. Daphne Greengrass had to float her all the way up to the Hospital Wing with her wand.

Harry and Hermione were - obviously - re-potting together. Across from them, on the other row of trestle tables, Draco Malfoy looked over as Hermione pulled her ugly little mandrake from it’s pot.

“Oh, look everyone,” Malfoy drawled. “Ever wondered what Potter and Granger’s baby would look like? Well, there it is! You know, I do think he has your eyes, Granger!”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Harry sniped, as Sophie Roper - the Slytherin sharing with Draco - giggled next to him.

“Just ignore him, Harry,” Hermione cajoled, drawing his attention back to herself by patting his wrist. “No more magic flares, okay?”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, stilling instantly at Hermione's brief contact with his skin.

“Ow! Gerroff me!”

All eyes were drawn to the end of the row. Ron and Parvati were struggling with their mandrake, which was having a bit of a temper tantrum. It must have been teething, for it had bitten Ron on the finger and wouldn’t let go.

So Ron _punched_ it in the face!

“Twenty points from Gryffindor!” Professor Sprout called down angrily. “For assaulting an infant!”

“That’s not fair!” Ron moaned. “The little beggar _bit_ me!”

“And I can only hope you wouldn’t respond to a human baby in same way,” Professor Sprout admonished. “Miss Granger? Will you go and help Mr Weasley, please.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Hermione scurried away, and Ron glowered furiously at her as she fixed his problem. Harry sighed. Clearly, the brush with fame hadn’t taught Ron any sense of manners or appreciation yet.

“Good job,” Harry complimented as Hermione returned to him.

“You could have done that just as easily,” Hermione smiled back.

“Maybe. But Sprout didn’t ask _me_ ,” Harry grinned. He leaned in close, like he was going to tell her a secret. “She knew how to play to the class’ strengths.”

“Hush you,” Hermione replied, blushing furiously.

After Herbology came Transfiguration. McGonagall’s class was no less tricky than Sprout’s, but Harry and Hermione were soon having their own little competition to see who could produce the prettiest buttons from the beetles they were turning them into.

“I can do little toggles, too. Look!” Hermione announced proudly, showing one she’d made to Harry.

“I have a cloak they would go very nicely with,” Harry nodded, impressed. He pulled up his sleeve and drew his wand. “But can you put little threads through the button holes, like this? The legs change quite easily into them I reckon. And the shell makes for some shiny refinements around the edges.”

“Show-off,” Hermione teased with a little grin, as Harry created a very handsome button and gave it to her.

“You can keep that,” Harry laughed.

“I’ll treasure it always!” Hermione swooned dramatically, hugging the button to her face and swaying on the spot until they both fell about giggling.

“Excellent work,” Professor McGonagall beamed as she passed their table. “Take ten points each.”

“Cant you make it fifteen, Auntie Min?” Harry quipped. “You’re _bound_ to deduct marks when you get around to Ron and Neville.”

“Yes, I agree,” Hermione added in a sniffy voice. “I’ve been watching them, but I don’t think they are having much luck. Neville is doing okay … but I think all Ron is doing is giving his beetles some exercise. He’s spent more time chasing them along the worktop with his wand than actual spell-casting.”

Harry stifled a laugh behind his hand. “Auntie Min … what’s that shiny stuff around Ron’s wand?”

“Looks like _Spellotape!”_ Professor McGonagall frowned. “Weasley! Bring your wand to me this instant. Chop chop!”

Ron shuffled sheepishly across the room to them and handed his wand over. McGonagall examined it closely.

“This wand is a _disgrace_!” she reproached. “How on earth did it get into this state?”

“It’s not my fault ... well, not _totally_ ,” Ron protested weakly. “It was my brother Charlie’s old wand. Dragon fire burnt the end off it, so the Unicorn hair pokes out a bit.”

“And this _break_ down the middle?” McGonagall demanded.

“The, um, tree did that,” Ron flushed. “You know … The Whomping Willow.”

Professor McGonagall thrust his wand back at him in disgust. “Then you have no-one to blame but yourself. I was expecting very little from you this year Weasley, but I was prepared to hope that you might improve a _bit_. You had plenty of _scope_ for it, as you know. You were almost refused entry into the second year on account of your hopeless exam results last year, remember. We almost made you repeat the _first year_ they were so poor. And I cant remember the last time that happened.”

Harry and Hermione raised wide-eyed brows at each other and looked away, pretending not to have heard as they went back to work.

“I know, Miss,” Ron muttered, scuffing his shoe against the desk. “My Mum was _not_ happy with me.”

“No. I can’t imagine that she would be,” McGonagall replied.

“But I am going to try, Professor,” Ron vowed, before adding grimly, “Like you said … I cant get much worse, can I?”

“I would have thought not, but after seeing your wand …” McGonagall frowned. “That thing is a liability, Mr Weasley. You need to get it replaced before you hurt someone … or hurt _yourself_.”

“Yes, Miss. But wands they … they don’t come cheap.”

“I shall have a word with the Headmaster,” Professor McGonagall told him stoutly. Then she flicked a look and a tiny smile at Harry and Hermione. “We have a fair bit of _excess_ in the Hogwarts Hardship Fund this year. I’m sure it can stretch to a new wand for you.”

Hermione grinned up at Harry in a ‘ _This is your generosity knowing no bounds’_ sort of way. But without being able to say so, she just slid a little closer so that their shoulders were touching. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat, where his rapidly beating heart had collided with it.

“Thank you, Miss,” Ron mumbled, flushing deeply again.

“It is not charity, but an investment in you and your future,” McGonagall replied kindly. “I expect your results to improve. If not for yourself and your family - though that ought to be incentive enough - then for the glory of Gryffindor. You need to take ownership of _something_ in your life, Mr Weasley.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Very well. Carry on. And if you have any trouble, just ask Mr Potter or Miss Granger for help. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. Just look how perfect their buttons are!”

Harry wished she hadn’t said that. Ron scowled a little at the suggestion, then idled back to his desk mutinously.

“So much for my chances at a thank you,” Harry muttered to Hermione, as soon as Ron was out of earshot.

“Well, _I_ appreciate you,” Hermione beamed, which was worth more to Harry than all thank yous Ron could have given him in three lifetimes.

* * *

After lunch they were due to have their first Defence lesson with Lockhart. Harry wasn’t looking forward to it. He was distracted all afternoon, as he’d seen two more of those strange flashes of light, and was on the verge of going to Madame Pomfrey to see if he was having a stroke or something, when the cause suddenly revealed itself.

And when it did, Harry rather thought he’d have preferred the stroke.

“Hey Harry, can I have a picture, please?”

A little mousy-haired boy had accosted Harry as they queued up outside Lockhart’s classroom. He introduced himself as Colin Creevey, a Muggle with an obsession for photographing as much of the magical world as he could. And now, he had been sequestered by two other first years - Demelza Robins and Ginny Weasley - to take pictures of Harry … as many as he possibly could.

“Why do you want a picture of me?” Harry asked with an awkward flush.

“For the wall of the Fan Club,” Colin told him brightly. “A Harry Potter Fan Club!”

“Is it just for first-years, or can anyone be a member of this fan club?” Hermione tittered, her eyes laughing before her mouth could join in.

“Don’t encourage them!” Harry moaned angrily.

“Fan Club? Who has a Fan Club now?”

Harry groaned. For Lockhart had picked _that_ moment to step out of his classroom.

“Harry does, Sir,” Demelza squeaked. “Ginny and I started it. And Colin, here, is our Chief Photographer. Ooh … can we have one of the both of you? The two most handsome boys at Hogwarts _together_?”

Hermione was trying to suppress silent giggles next to Harry at his bashfulness. Harry scowled at her.

But Lockhart was in his element now. “Of course you can! Another big smile, Harry. You remember the way!”

 _Snap. Snap, snap._ Colin’s camera clicked away as Lockhart held Harry in a sort of headlock and grinned like a chimp on laughing gas. Thankfully, it was over in less than a minute.

“Thanks!” Demelza sang. “See you, Harry. Stop by the Fan Club any time. Third Floor Corridor, the room by that funny trapdoor. See ya! Mwwwwaaaah!”

Then she blew him a kiss and skipped away with Ginny, laughing crazily. Harry blushed furiously and turned to Hermione, who was red in the face and seemed to be eating her knuckles to keep the giggles at bay.

“Dont even say anything,” Harry warned crossly, before stomping into Lockhart’s classroom.

The lesson itself turned into a bit of joke. It was worse, in many ways, than Quirrell’s version of the subject a year previously. Harry quickly decided to rename the class _Defence Against Boredom._ For the entire first lesson consisted of nothing more than Lockhart reading aloud the first chapter of his autobiography, _Magical Me_ , along with some of his favourite excerpts from later on in the waste of good wood pulp. Then he gave a ridiculous quiz about what he’d just read them all.

The only answer Harry got right was _Who Wrote Magical Me?_ And even _that_ was debatable, as Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if Lockhart was actually illiterate.

What made him _truly_ sick, though, was that Hermione answered every single one of the ludicrous trivia questions correctly, causing Harry to lose a touch of respect for her. In his mind, she was better than that. Much better. She didn’t seem to hear when he told her that though, as her head was balanced on her hands, her eyes glassy and distant, and she kept sighing like she had back on that day at Flourish and Blotts.

Harry didn’t switch his attention back on until the bell went, when Lockhart gave them their ‘homework’ … which Harry thought was a task just as pointless as their first lesson.

“Homework, tonight, is to record your dreams in the diaries you all purchased for the class,” Lockhart called out happily as the class packed away. “Next lesson we will take a look at them, and analyse any darkness that we find and defeat it! I will have you dreaming freely in no time!”

“What kind of homework was _that_?” Harry riled as they headed back towards Gryffindor Tower. _“Record our dreams?_ What a load of rubbish.”

“Seems fair to me,” Neville argued. “The Dark Arts can be internal as well as external, you know.”

“Indeed they can,” Hermione agreed.

“Don’t tell me you’re _defending_ that fraud?” Harry cried. “Come on! The guy’s a joke!”

“Just look at what he’s done in his books, Harry,” Hermione suggested. “We have to trust that he knows what he’s talking about.”

“They’re rubbish, too,” Harry scoffed. He couldn’t believe his friends were so blind to this, but he knew that Hermione’s faith in books was unshatterable, even if they were works of complete fiction. “The truth will out, you’ll see. Then you’ll be sorry. But I’ll accept both your apologies when that day comes.”

“So, are you just not going to do the homework?” Hermione asked incredulously as they reached the Portrait Hole. “Discord.”

“Is _that_ the password!” Harry snapped. “Makes sense, really. And yes, I will do the homework. I’ll say I’m dreaming of Voldemort coming back and killing us all. See how old Lockie deals with _that_ darkness!”

“Harry!” Hermione told him off. “You cant say that!”

“I don’t know why not,” Harry rebuffed.

“Well it’s a _lie,_ for a start!”

“So? Seems fair to me. After all, one bit of fake writing deserves another as far as I’m concerned. I’ll show that fraud that he isn’t the only one who can write _utter crap_ and pass it off as the truth!”

* * *

All in all, it wasn’t a great end to the day. Hermione considered all that had happened as she brushed her teeth, slipped on her nightie and curled up on top of her quilt to try and pull the knots out of her hair. It was a war Hermione couldn't hope to win. Fay and Lavender watched the struggle with profound sympathy and pity.

“You have such lovely thick hair, Hermione,” Lavender commented. “But it looks a _nightmare_ to manage.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hermione replied, wincing as the brush got stuck and pulled painfully on her roots.

“Has it always been that _dense_?” asked Fay, twirling her shorter black bangs around her wand as they dried.

“Always,” Hermione confirmed. “I’ve tried different shampoos, conditioners, everything. But it takes so much to make any sort of difference that I’d need a full-time job to cover the cost!”

Lavender giggled at that, then pierced Hermione with a shrewd stare. “Okay then. Time for a bit of Gryffindor truth from _you_ , Miss Granger.”

“About what?”

“About you and _Harry Potter_ ,” Lavender squeaked. “Come on. Spill it.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” Hermione replied, her cheeks flaring hotly.

“Oh, _rubbish!”_ Parvati Patil called from the en-suite shower.

“Yeah, don’t give us that,” Fay chipped in. “You can tell us. It’s just us girls here.”

“What makes you so sure there’s anything to tell?” Hermione asked evasively.

“Where to start?” Lavender cut in exuberantly. “There was the hand-holding when you arrived for the Sorting, then the cutesy little way you were acting together in Herbology and Transfig this afternoon.”

“Not to mention the rumours that you _visited_ him every day over the Summer,” Parvati added as she joined them.

“Oh, _yeah_! I forgot about that!” Lavender laughed. “Did you really?”

Hermione blushed madly. “Well, it wasn’t every _day.”_

 _“_ But you did go and see him?” Fay pushed.

“Sometimes,” Hermione confessed as her blush deepened. “Then some days he came to Oxford to see _me_. Sometimes we’d do Muggle things, other times magical things.”

“I _bet_ you did some _magical things_!” Lavender squealed, laughing as Parvati flopped down on the bed to giggle with her. "Did you kiss him? What was it like?"

“Yes, Hermione, do tell!” Parvati urged, propping her head onto her elbows in anticipation.

“It wasn’t like _that_ ,” Hermione tried fruitlessly, adding with unmasked disappointment. "We didn't kiss or anything."

“Well, it must have been like _something_ ,” Fay argued sagely. “Why else would Harry follow you round all day like a little puppy begging for a petting?”

“He doesn’t do that … _does he_?” Hermione asked, giggling coyly herself.

“Oh, you know he does!” Parvati dismissed lightly. “And you love it!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Hermione grinned.

“Yeah you do. You love him. _Hermione loves Harry_!”

“Ssh, everyone will hear you!” Hermione shrieked, as the other girls joined in on the song.

“So?” Lavender giggled. “Everyone knows already. Especially S _ally-Anne Perks_.”

Hermione’s giggle turned to a cross little frown. “What about _her_? Has she said something?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Lavender teased. “Only that she fancies Harry something _chronic_ and she’s plotting to boot you out the way so he’ll go out with her.”

“Yeah, we thought you should know,” Parvati added. “Us Gryffindor girls have to stick together. What are friends for, eh?”

“Just give us a shout when you need help burying her body!” Fay chuckled. “I know some good secret passageways out of the castle, you know.”

The rest of the night was spent devising creatively devilish ways in which to dispose of the corpse of a hopeless love rival, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn’t work. When the time finally came for sleep, Hermione decided to get her dream diary out in readiness for the morning. She didn’t want to miss even a single detail.

In any case, the itinerary for _The Plan_ was written on the first page, and it wouldn’t hurt to refresh her memory. In truth, Harry was so irritated by Lockhart already that Hermione thought all she’d have to do would be to circle all his lessons in little hearts on her class timetable, and Harry would start a blood feud against the famous adventurer just for the sake of it.

But when Hermione opened the cover of her diary, she was hit was with a shuddering shock … and immediately started to panic that her secret would leak out.

For the page containing The Plan was gone … somebody had _stolen_ it!


	6. A Birthday to Forget

Or _had_ they?

The ‘thief’ had certainly done a very good job. As Hermione studied the book frantically she noticed that there was no tear, no rip, not even the tiniest fragment of paper left in the join. Whoever took the page - or the words on it - must have removed it by magic, Hermione reasoned, which left a very focused shortlist for her search.

Suspicion fell immediately on her dorm-mates. Did _that_ explain the sudden surge of interest in finding out all the intimate details of her relationship with Harry? She tentatively ruled that out. The girls had been ribbing her last night, too, as they all went to bed, and she hadn’t even unpacked by that point. They’d all been at the Sorting Feast so there would have been no opportunity to steal her diary in the day, and they’d _already_ started their playful teasing by then.

So if not them, then _who_?

Hermione had to think it was someone trying to use her to get information on Harry. It made the most sense. He was was more important and interesting. But even _these_ suspects had perfect alibis. The girls from the Harry Potter Fan Club had no more opportunity for theft than the girls of Dorm Seven - less even, as the dorms were spelled to refuse access to those who weren’t occupants, sort of like how vampires were kept at bay.

Hermione wanted to blame cute-nosed Sally-Anne, but she’d ridden with her from the Hogwarts Express and Hermione had spent the entire trip glaring at her. She had been _watching_ where those hands were roaming, and they didn’t go anywhere near her bags.

The list of potential culprits was growing thin.

Hermione debated with asking the other girls in her dorm if they had stolen the missing page, but she checked herself. If she came across as frantic about something missing from her diary they might think that she had something to hide, and the curiosity of teenage girls for a bit of gossip was an insatiable beast. She could kiss goodbye to privacy if she revealed that she was keeping juicy secrets from them.

So, no. She’d have to get to the bottom of this on her own. In any case, this problem wouldn’t prevent her doing her homework. The bigger problem was if she would be able to sleep at all. With a panicked mind and frantically beating heart, she doubted rest would come easy.

 _Serves you right_ , a stern part of her brain told her, _for pursuing this petty punishment of Harry._

Hermione huffed at that. An hour ago she was telling Harry that she didn’t have sleep problems, while at the same time still holding his own careless transgressions against him that has caused _his_. Talk about karma! It wasn’t his fault he was as blissfully ignorant as all other boys from time to time. He couldn’t be _too_ perfect, it’d be unnatural. He’d apologised without Hermione being specific with him about what his crime was.

That wasn’t like her, or _them_. They’d been honest and transparent since almost the beginning, but Hermione now saw that it was _she_ that was playing games, whereas Harry was just trying to make amends. Lyra had advised her to do what _she_ would have done, the way she’d always toyed with the affections of the men in her life.

But that wasn’t Hermione’s way, and it wasn’t how she wanted to be with Harry. So she fluffed her pillow briskly, and made a decision as she settled down to sleep. Tomorrow, first thing, she would find him, tell him why she’d been upset and clear the air completely. Yes, that was better. It was _their_ way. And she’d have a whole month of Harry making it up to her in the most adorable of ways to enjoy in the aftermath.

Hermione smiled into her pillow. That was something to give her the most _pleasant_ of dreams. Unfortunately for Hermione, the dreams she _did_ have were far from pleasant. The Diary Page Thief would make sure of _that_.

* * *

The Thief also made sure that Hermione’s clear-the-air meeting with Harry never happened.

Though in truth, Harry had a hand in this, too. For he spent much of the next week speeding between his classes, dodging out of sight whenever he saw any members of his _fan club_ coming near. He learned that there were over a hundred students signed up, making it the most popular social club at the school. This didn’t sit at all well with Harry, and simply fuelled the paranoia that he was being watched everywhere he went.

Even worse than his _fans_ was the exuberant attentions Harry had attracted from Gilderoy Lockhart. The hapless Defence Professor had a habit of swooping up on Harry at the most random of times, as if drawn to him like a magnet, offering advice on how best to manage his fame and _minor_ celebrity status. He would swing by at meal and break times, escort Harry between lessons if he happened to come across him in the corridors, and even sit with him during _other_ classes. Or, at least, until the Professors teaching those lessons lost their patience and asked Lockhart to leave, with the minimum amount of civility their frayed nerves could spare.

Then there was Quidditch, which Harry was disappointed to find very rarely contained his personal cheerleader these days. Hermione would normally have been found in the stands, watching Harry while he was training or playing. She claimed that doing her homework in the fresh air was good for her, but Harry liked to think that she was simply there to be on hand if he had an accident or something.

Which was just what happened during the second Saturday training session of the new year. Hermione hadn’t come along to watch again - not that Harry was _too_ surprised, considering that Oliver Wood had been dragging the team out of bed at 7am for these gruelling workouts - and Harry trudged out into the pouring rain in quite the despondent mood. There was a damp chill over the grounds that morning, the rain was falling incessantly like little bullets, and they were all soaked through in a matter of minutes.

They were so damp, in fact, that at one point Harry lost his grip on his broom and crashed right into one of the scoring hoops.

“It’s fine, just a bruise,” Harry told Wood as they landed to investigate his injury. “I’ll be alright.”

“Okay, well, if you’re sure,” Wood replied bracingly, wiping rain from his fringe. “Get back up there.”

“No you wont!” Alicia Spinnet told him crossly, as she landed by Harry and cradled his wrist. “That’s more than just a bruise. The only place you’re _getting up to_ is the Hospital Wing. Don’t argue, Oliver! Look at the swelling! We can carry on training without Harry. One more injury, though, and we’re all calling it a day.”

So Harry did as he was told. Madame Pomfrey gave him something for the pain and an ice strapping for his wrist, which he was still wearing by the time he entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

“What happened to your arm?” Neville asked as he joined Harry at the Gryffindor table.

“A incident involving me, a crazy Quidditch Captain and a twenty-mile-an-hour collision with a fifty-foot metal hoop!” Harry grimaced. “It looks worse than it is, though.”

“I was _going_ to say it looks like you are being a bit of a fart!” Neville teased. “Milking flesh wounds! What a pansy!”

“Shut up, Neville,” Harry chuckled. “Have you seen Hermione? It’s late for her.”

“She’s probably listening to Lockart’s breakfast show on the _Wizarding Wireless Network,_ ” Neville told him lightly. “He likes to have a live audience, so he does broadcasts from down in the school kitchens now. She might be there, actually. You know, Lockhart might have actually made that toast and jam you are eating.”

Harry pushed his plate away in disgust. He’d lost his appetite … and if Lockhart was cooking his meals now, Harry rather thought he’d never get it back again.

“I don’t know what she sees in him,” Harry moaned bitterly, stabbing his sausage slice with his fork. “I mean, she’s always going to see him doing different things, and all she ever says is ‘ _Gilderoy said this_ ’ or ‘ _Gilderoy was wearing that_ ’. I caught her rewriting her entire Charms essay the other day because Lockhart had been ‘advising’ her on structure. It was a good job I looked over it for her, because it was _rubbish._ I had to re-write tons of it when she went out for a walk with Lavender and Fay.”

Neville quirked an eyebrow. “You re-wrote Hermione’s essay?”

“I had to,” Harry confessed. “I even had to learn a spell to make my handwriting look like hers. It was a good thing, too. I took it to McGonagall to have a look at, and she said it would have barely scraped an _Acceptable_.”

“Wow, that isn’t like Hermione, is it?” Neville frowned, looking concerned for the first time. “Did you tell her?”

“I’ve hardly seen her to,” Harry replied. “But she’d have been _devastated_ to get such a poor mark. There’s something wrong with her, Nev. Ever since Lockhart arrived, she hasn’t been the same. I wonder if he’s got her under a spell or something. You must have noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

Harry snapped his head up to see Hermione arriving at their table. Harry’s heart sank, for Hermione was keeping up with her recent trend of sitting on the other side of the table to him, rather than what had been her regular spot by his side. Harry felt colder for not having her tucked close to his right arm. He sighed sadly and let his face sag with his shoulders.

“What must you have noticed?” Hermione repeated breezily, leaning over and stealing the sausage from Harry’s plate.

“There’s a whole platter of fresh Cumberlands just over there,” Harry grumbled, nodding to the sausages nearby.

“Yes, but I wanted _yours_ ,” Hermione grinned cheekily. “So, are you going to answer my question, or do I have to ask for the third time?”

Harry looked firmly at Neville and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“I was just saying how stupid Lockhart’s homework is,” Harry lied to her. “I haven’t bothered doing it this week. He never asks anyway. He only seems to want to know what the _girls_ are dreaming about. I reckon it’s just because he loves it when you all say you’re dreaming about _him_.”

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy there, Harry?” Hermione teased.

“No!” Harry scoffed brusquely. “Absolutely not! You can all dream about what you like.”

“What’s in your diary today then, Hermione?” Neville asked playfully. “I’ll show you mine … if you show me yours!”

Neville winked at Harry, who was looking daggers at him.

“I cant show you that!” Hermione squealed.

“Of course you can,” Neville replied. “You’ll only tell us during class, anyway.”

“That’s just because I have it memorised,” Hermione sniffed loftily. “I mean, I _literally_ cant show you, can I? Seeing as how the words fade into the page as soon as you write them, of course. It’s a bit odd that they don’t _always_ come back in the same order, but maybe mine is just a bit defective. I’ll have to ask Professor Gilderoy about that later.”

Harry looked over at Neville in alarmed confusion. Quite clearly, _his_ dream diary didn’t behave in this way either, just as Harry’s didn’t. Harry was about to point this out to Hermione when she suddenly leapt up in animation.

“Come on, boys, we don’t want to be late for _History of Magic_ ,” she chimed brightly. “I want to pop to the loo on the way. I’ve been having the _best_ wees lately, ever since I started using that disused toilet on the second floor. It’s so much easier to _go_ when there aren’t other girls around to hear, I find. Well, apart from Moaning Myrtle, obviously. But she’s just a ghost, so she doesn’t really count.”

Then she danced off, swinging her school satchel behind her. She hadn’t noticed Harry’s bandaged wrist at all.

“Okay, Harry, I’m onside,” Neville muttered lowly as they left the Hall. “Something _definitely_ isn’t right with her.”

Harry gave a weak smile. “Thanks. Glad it’s not just me.”

“We’ll keep a closer eye on her from now on,” Neville promised. “Though perhaps we should wait till she’s off the toilet before we start! Unless, of course, you’d _like_ to catch her with her knickers down!”

“Dont be disgusting!” Harry chuckled, then pushed Neville along the corridor to their classroom.

* * *

Harry and Neville were good to their word, and kept a far closer watch on Hermione after that. But, aside from a slightly more chipper attitude, they didn’t notice much of a difference. It was true that she tended to spend more time polishing her nails than doing her homework these days, but she was a growing girl and they shrugged and accepted that this was just the ‘new normal’ for her.

After all, she was spending more and more time with the girls from her dorm than she was with Harry and Neville. Harry stopped hoping that she would turn up to watch him at Quidditch, got used to doing his homework by himself - while Hermione gossiped happily with Lavender and Parvati - and he could more often than not be found reading alone in the library, or taking long walks around the grounds with Hedwig rather than his best friend for company.

Neville tried with all his might, but he simply wasn’t an adequate replacement for Hermione in Harry’s world. There was much less laughter when Neville was your best friend, and more time spent pruning plants than Harry could tolerate. So he soon found himself swapping Neville for Hedwig, taking his faithful owl to quiet spots near the Great Lake or in the shadow of the Forbidden Forest, where they would while away the hours in companiable, if lonely, silence.

On September the Nineteenth, however, things came to a head.

Harry had prepared a nice surprise for Hermione for her birthday. Well, _he_ thought it was nice anyway. Hagrid had told him that the school’s flock of unicorns were in birthing season, and that a number of foals had been born just a few days ago. Aside from being extremely cute, these baby unicorns secreted a pheromone that had special healing properties for girls. And, as Hermione had been complaining of cramps all week, Harry thought this might help ease her discomfort, if only for her birthday.

At nine o’clock Harry was to be found waiting in the Entrance Hall as they’d agreed. There was no-one else about. Harry adjusted the clasp on his _Farringdon Fliers_ cloak as he ambled around. He’d attached the fancy toggle that Hermione had produced in Transfiguration and he was trying to make it prominent on his chest, hoping she’d notice it. He was looking forward to seeing the foals, as Hagrid said this was a once-in-a-year opportunity. After tonight they’d retreat back into their habitats deeper in the Forest. Harry didn’t want to miss this.

The minutes passed. Harry glanced up at the huge clock above him as the hands marked the arrival of quarter-past, then half-past. Harry started to get anxious. Had something happened to Hermione to make her so late? He couldn’t imagine that it had. After all, he’d seen her less than two hours ago when they ate dinner.

Soon it was ten o’clock. Harry was now sat slumped on the Grand Staircase feeling thoroughly miserable. There was no sign of Hermione. He’d give it another ten minutes … then he added another five, just in case. By the time half-past Ten came along he decided to give up and call it a night. Sighing heavily, he tucked his robe tight against the blistering cold of the draughty castle and started making his way along the glum corridors.

That was when he heard the voice.

_Come to me … let me rip you … I smell flesh … hungry, so hungry …_

It was a voice of chilled venom. Harry snapped his head around, this way and that, but all he could hear was the echo of that icy tone in his mind. And as the seconds sped past, he started to wonder if that was where he’d heard it … in his mind. It was late, and he was tired. There were no more words, only the chilly tingle it had left on Harry’s skin.

In his depressed state Harry hadn’t really paid much mind to the direction he’d been taking. The icy voice had sent his senses onto high alert now, though, and he looked around in the gloom. Where was he?

He wished he hadn’t asked.

A door opened just up ahead, and the simpering voice of Lockhart floated along the corridor. Harry was about to turn and dive into an empty classroom to hide when a second voice reached him from inside Lockhart's office.

"Well, thank you for helping me answer my fan mail," Lockhart was saying smoothly. "It's been a fun night, hasn't it? We'll have to do it again sometime."

“Oh yes! The absolute _best_. I can think of no better way to spend my birthday!”

Harry’s heart fell. For it was _Hermione_ who was speaking.

Harry sighed and felt angry tears rise behind his eyes. Or were they sad ones? He wasn't sure about _that_ , but the pinch of disappointment around his heart was almost unbearable. That was in _no_ doubt. Harry listened to Hermione saying goodnight to Lockhart, waited until her footsteps echoed nearby, then he stepped out.

“So _this_ is where you’ve been?”

Hermione jumped in her fright and fell back against the opposite wall, clutching at her heart.

“Harry!” she yelped angrily. “What in the hell are you playing at? Why are you hiding in an empty classroom?”

“I was just wondering where you might be,” Harry replied quietly. He wasn’t going to apologise for scaring her. “You were supposed to meet me, remember?”

“I was? Why?” Hermione asked, confused.

“I was going to show you a surprise, I told you,” Harry reminded her.

“Was that _tonight_?” Hermione squeaked. “I’m sorry, Harry. I completely forgot.”

“Completely _forgot_?” Harry scythed, taking a step nearer to her in the dark. “Forgot that we were going to spend some time together on your _birthday_?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, but she didn’t sound like she meant it. “What was the surprise?”

“I was going to show you some newborn unicorns,” Harry grumbled. “But it’s too late now.”

“Ooh, that sounds lovely!” Hermione beamed. “We can go now. Come on!”

She reached out for him, but Harry tugged his arm away. “Didn’t you _hear_ me? It’s too late. They’re gone.”

“Then we can catch them. It’s only the Forbidden Forest.”

“Stop being _stupid_ ,” Harry snapped furiously. “It doesn’t suit you. You’re spending too much time with that bimbo back there. It’s making you _dumb_.”

“Harry …”

“Dont ‘ _Harry’_ me! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I don’t like it. I don’t like who you’re becoming, what you’re turning into.”

“What does that mean?” Hermione demanded.

“It means that …” Harry took a gulping breath. This was going to hurt him badly. “I … I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

“What? Harry, come on. Don’t say that.”

Hermione reached over and took a handful of his cloak in her hands.

“Let go of me!” Harry yelled. He yanked himself away… hard. The handsome toggle came away in Hermione’s hand. She looked at it in a stream of moonlight from a high window. When she looked up again her eyes were moist with tears … and something had broken within her.

“Harry … please!”

“I don’t think we should be friends anymore,” Harry insisted firmly. “You can have old Lockhart and spend your time with him. I’m done.”

Then he started walking off.

“Harry … wait … please!” Hermione begged, hurrying after him. “I’m sorry … I’m …”

But whatever else she was got lost within a whoosh of runic magic, as Harry cast his wand over his retreating shoulder and blocked the corridor off with a powerful barrier. He didn't look back. Hermione fell to her knees behind it, weeping profusely as Harry stormed off into the night.

“Harry! I’m sorry! It’s not _me_. It’s these dreams I’ve been having … and that diary. I’m sorry, Harry.”

“He can’t hear you. He’s long gone.”

“Pap! There you are! Where have you _been_?” Hermione shrieked. She reached out for her dæmon … but _he_ backed away from her, too. Hermione’s heart went cold. “Pap … come to me.”

“No,” Papageno replied firmly. “Not unless you get rid of that diary. Tonight.”

“But I don’t know if I can,” Hermione moaned. “It knows me so well. I _need_ it. I cant get Gilderoy to love me without it.”

Even as she said the words, Hermione realised how laughably ludicrous they were.

“Did I actually just say that?”

“You did,” Papageno confirmed. “And it’s the sort of rubbish you’ve been spouting for weeks. That diary is putting ideas into your head. Get rid of it.”

“I _cant._ ”

“Then I’ll give you a simple choice,” Papageno replied flatly. “The diary and this fallacy of Lockhart … or _nobody_.”

“Nobody?”

“Well, you’ve already lost _Harry_ ,” Papageno reminded her, the words cutting to Hermione’s heart like a hot knife. “And if you _don’t_ get rid of the diary you’ll lose _me_ , too. I’ll go away and not come back.”

“No, Pap! You can’t!”

“I can … and I will. So choose.”

Hermione wailed in the corridor. This was so hard, how could she be expected to make such a decision! And had she really lost Harry? What a stupid thing to say! But she had. And she knew it more certainly than anything … and the pain of the understanding caused her own magic to flare from her like Harry’s could do.

And whatever enchantment had been holding her was snapped away like a scab being ripped from a wound.

Hermione had her first clear thought in what felt like _weeks_. It was like a headache she didn’t know she had was suddenly lifted from her skull. What was she doing here, crying on the floor outside Lockhart’s classroom? Had she really been helping him reply to fan mail? Had she really missed out on seeing baby _unicorns_? She would scorn herself for _that_ in the days to come.

But, most importantly, had she hurt Harry beyond repair? She didn’t know what to do.

So her dæmon told her for her.

“Go to your room. Now,” Papageno advised sternly. “Get the diary. Take it to Harry. Tonight. Crawl on your hands and knees if you have to, if that’s what it takes to get him to talk to you. Tell him everything. Then get rid of the cursed thing.”

“Yes, yes I will,” Hermione announced, standing up and drying her eyes. “Do you really think he meant that? That he doesn’t want to be friends anymore?”

"Maybe, but not in the way _you're_ on about," Pap quirked lightly, which sparked a fire of hope in Hermione's heart. "But you realise that _that_ is a long way off now, don't you? It's going to take a long time to earn his trust again, let alone his affections. You'll have to start right from the beginning because of all the hurt you've caused him."

“If that’s what it takes,” Hermione replied determinedly. “Now, how do I get through this shield?”

“Harry has no defence against the _real_ you,” Papageno told her. “He couldn’t keep _that_ Hermione Granger away.”

“Let’s see if you’re right,” Hermione grinned fiercely.

Then she stepped right through Harry’s barrier as though it were nothing more than a ray of light, and began the long run all the way to Gryffindor Tower.


	7. Plausible Deniability

But it turned out that finding Harry wasn’t all that easy.

After sprinting the entire way back to the Common Room, Hermione had to take a rest. It was a long time since she’d run that fast and she doubled up with a splitting stitch in her side at the exertion. But it was nothing to the splitting panic in her mind, which was ripping through her with greater intensity with every lost second she spent in pursuit of Harry.

Then something _else_ mentioned _‘ripping’_ …

 _So, so hungry … oh to rip flesh … to drink blood_ …

“What?” Hermione yelped. “Pap? What did you say?”

“ _I_ didn’t say that,” Pap complained. “I thought _you_ did.”

“No, but you did hear it?” Hermione asked. Pap nodded. “What was it?”

“If you don’t know, then neither do I,” Pap frowned. “But whatever it was, it sounded dangerous. And not just the words … that voice … it was like liquid _hate_.”

“And it sounded hungry,” Hermione agreed. Then a whine of fear whirred through her mind. “Oh Pap! You don’t think …”

“I’m sure Harry is safe,” Papageno told her reassuringly. “He’s too clever to be caught out like that.”

“But he was upset!” Hermione moaned lowly. “I upset him! So, so badly. I saw it in his eyes. I was so bad, Pap. Even after what Harry did with that singer-witch-wench, I never wanted _that_! I never wanted to hurt him, just to make him a bit jealous over _me_. Oh, a thousand curses on you, Hermione Jane Granger! Harry might not have been thinking properly. What if he walked straight into that _thing_ \- whatever it was - and it _ate_ him! Oh Pap! I’ll throw myself off of the Astronomy Tower if that’s what’s happened! I wont want to live.”

“Calm down, Hermione,” Pap admonished firmly. “You’re ranting like a crazy person. That isn’t what happened.”

“How do you know?”

“The voice said it was hungry. If it just ate Harry, it wouldn’t want another meal now would it?”

“Oh I don’t know. There’s not _much_ of Harry, is there? He’s a wiry sort of boy, after all. He might not be more than a light snack to a great big monster or something.”

“Then get up those stairs and make sure he’s in bed … and alive enough to still be angry with you.”

“Right,” Hermione nodded firmly.

So she turned and sprinted towards the staircase to the Boy’s Dormitories. But she hadn’t taken three steps when her path was suddenly and unceremoniously blocked.

“What the - ?”

Hermione squealed as she skidded into something very hard and cold - right into the stone bodies of two statues that had sprung to life and barred the staircase from her progress.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hermione demanded, planting her hands to her hips and tapping her foot impatiently.

One of the statues, which were identical and equally emotionless, turned his head to her.

“You shall not pass.”

“And why not?”

“You are female,” said the other statue blandly. “And this staircase is for males only.”

“Well that’s just _absurd_ ,” Hermione pouted. “I’m only going to find my friend. Let me through.”

“No.”

“I’m not going to do anything naughty,” Hermione argued. “And it’s really, really important that I get past.”

“No.”

Hermione scowled darkly. “You are being _very_ unhelpful, do you know that? There must be a way to pass.”

“How many ages do you think we have stood guard here?” asked one of the statutes. “Do you have any idea how many females have tried to get by us for _really important_ reasons?”

“And don’t you think that if it was possible it would have happened by now?” the other added. “Students have threatened us with spells, tried bribery and harsh language. But the answer is always the same.”

“And it is always ‘You shall not pass’,” the first statue finished.

“Fine,” Hermione huffed, conceding defeat. “But know this - I will make it my new goal to find a way past you before I leave this school. I swear that to you.”

“As have a hundred girls have before you,” one of the statues replied in a bored drawl. “And yet here we stand - unbreached in a thousand years.”

“Even by your _cat_ ,” the second statue commented. “Even _he_ can’t come up here. He may be the first _male_ we’ve ever denied access to.”

Hermione span around at that, staring accusatorily at Papageno.

“ _You_ tried to get into Harry’s dorm?” Hermione breathed. “Why?”

“How can you even ask that?” Papageno snapped back. “I haven’t spoken to you in the best part of a _month_! Not just that, but I hadn’t _heard_ you in a month, either. You were even blocking your thoughts from me. I had nowhere else to go. I hoped Harry might have a better idea of what was wrong with you. Besides that ... I was _lonely._ ”

Hermione flopped down on the battered old couch, trying to make sense of Papageno’s statement. It had shocked her deeply and her heart ached with the revelations.

“I pushed you away, too?” Hermione mumbled. “I had no idea. I just assumed you were still there. I cant believe I didn’t notice you weren’t around.”

“Well believe it,” Papageno replied scathingly, which Hermione accepted she deserved. “I haven’t spoken to you since your first night back at school. And you’ve been keeping me from your mind for just the same amount of time. I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“Neither did I,” Hermione whimpered. “I _don’t._ I couldn’t tell you how I was doing it. More than that, I don’t know anyone who _could._ I wouldn’t have thought that there was such a magic for that. I mean, who in this world would know how to keep their thoughts separate from their _dæmon_? Who here even knows about the connection?”

And the answer came to their reunified minds in the same moment.

“ _Tom Riddle_!” they both hissed together.

“It has to be!” Papageno muttered. “Who else would know!?”

“Oh Pap! He got to us! Somehow, I don’t know how, he got into my _mind_! Oh no, he might even still _be there_! Pap … I’m so scared.”

“Me too.”

Then, just like that, Papageno gave into his nerve-searing longing and jumped into Hermione’s waiting embrace, allowing human and dæmon to offer comfort to the other.

“I’m so sorry!” Hermione whimpered. “Pap, my love! Will you ever forgive me? Can you?”

“I do,” Papageno whispered consolingly. “You weren’t yourself. You were someone else. You were … _possessed!”_

Hermione gasped in horror. “I was, wasn’t I? There’s no other explanation. But for how long?”

“At least since Harry’s birthday, maybe before,” Pap suggested.

“Harry! Poor Harry!” Hermione moaned. “I have to think this was to do with him.”

“How do you mean?” asked Pap, snapping his head up. “You cant think _he_ had any hand in this?”

“No, don’t be stupid,” Hermione sniped back. “No, what I meant was, this has to be _about_ him, doesn’t it? Riddle wouldn’t target me just for being _me_. Remember what Serafina said? I have the power to _influence and guide_ Harry. And Riddle is terrified of where that might lead.”

“ _Ahhh_ … so he’s trying to drive a wedge between you!” Papageno exclaimed.

“Precisely,” Hermione nodded triumphantly. “But he had to get inside my head first. He knew that a sensible me wouldn’t overreact to Harry fancying the singer from the Weird Sisters. She’s very pretty, after all. But she’s at least _twice_ Harry’s age! She’s never going to be a threat to _me_ \- to _us_ \- is she? I know that, and if Harry wants to fancy her, I don’t mind.

“I just want to get him to fancy me _more_.”

“Which he does already,” Pap replied confidently.

“I love you, Pap!” Hermione grinned, hugging Papageno tight to her chest. “Have I told you how fluffy you’re feeling today?”

“No, but don’t get off track!”

“Right,” Hermione nodded. “So, Riddle got into my head and made me act all stupid and ignore Harry. I cant _believe_ I did that! What a moron I was! Then Lyra gave me some bad advice - which I’m _so_ going to tell her off for, by the way - and it played into what Riddle wanted me to do.”

“Which wasn’t just to make Harry jealous, but to hurt him and break his heart,” Papageno surmised.

“Dont say that!” Hermione squeaked sadly. “It hurts.”

“I know. It hurts me, too,” Pap replied. “But we have to _feel it_. Then we know how much we have to do to make it better. If _we_ feel this bad, then Harry does, too.”

“So when we feel better, we will know that we’ve fixed everything,” Hermione nodded. “I understand. What I don’t understand is how Riddle got influence over _you?”_

“I think it’s quite simple,” Papageno disagreed. “Despite our Separation, Hermione, we are still _one_. Whatever was affecting you was also acting on me. Perhaps not so deeply, but I wasn’t feeling myself, either. The only reason I didn’t go to Harry right away was that I retained some part of the real you. I didn’t want to give away our secret - our _big_ one - to him.”

“But, in the end, you broke free and tried?”

Papageno nodded. “It was a last resort, but when I saw you losing your mind over that _professor_ I knew I had to do something. It wasn’t just the way you were acting, but _him_ , too. He doesn’t look at you in anything like an appropriate way. I was concerned for your very safety. And if I was worried, I knew Harry wouldn’t rest until he was able to protect you.”

“Thank you, Pap, for looking out for me,” Hermione whispered, snuggling her dæmon lovingly. “I promise I wont let anything come between us again.”

“Not even _Harry?_ ” Papageno teased.

Hermione blushed. “Well, you’ll just have to close your eyes when I kiss him if you don’t like it!”

Papageno chuckled. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Hermione sighed, feeling the truth of the words flow through her. “Right, I’m going to bed. I cant get to Harry tonight, but he better not try and hide from me tomorrow. I’m not such an awful _Seeker_ myself, you know.”

* * *

But Harry did, indeed, try and hide from Hermione.

It was a Sunday, which meant no classes, so Harry had plenty of opportunity to slip away without Hermione catching him. And she’d gotten up really early, too. But Neville told her how in vain her efforts were.

“Harry isn’t in our dorm,” he informed her over breakfast. “His bed is still made, too, so I don’t think he came back to our room last night at all. That didn’t surprise _me_ …”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, flushing at the coy look on Neville’s face.

“Well, he spent half the evening telling me about the birthday date plans he had for you,” Neville quirked.

“He said it was a _date_?” Hermione whined. “Really?”

“Not in so many words,” Neville replied. “But he was taking you to see baby _unicorns_. Alone. Girls like that sort of thing, don’t they? And Harry was so excited about it he was practically bouncing off the walls. Sounded disgustingly romantic, if you ask me. It had _date_ written all over it.”

Hermione slumped so much she almost face-planted her porridge.

“I just assumed that you and Harry, er, stayed out all night,” Neville went on. “I mean, you look a bit spazzed out yourself.”

“Thanks,” Hermione snapped, pulling anxiously at her frizzy fringe.

“I just thought that’s what a night rolling around in the Forbidden Forest looks like!” Neville grinned.

“Shut up! I didn’t go with Harry to see the unicorns, all right?” Hermione retorted bitterly. “I wish I _had_. If it had been a _date_ , I’d be telling the whole bloody school about it! I’d have had t-shirts printed and everything!”

Neville sobered up in a second

“Are you saying you weren’t with Harry all night?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying,” Hermione hissed.

“But you _do_ fancy him?” Neville asked cautiously.

Hermione blinked hard. “Ok … _yes_ , I do. Just don’t tell anyone … please.”

“Of course I wont,” Neville promised faithfully. “You’re my best friend.”

“I am?” Hermione asked, thrown off-guard in her surprise. “Since when?”

“Best _girl_ friend, I meant,” Neville clarified quietly. “Harry’s my best friend of all, I think. No offence.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because,” Neville grinned. “If Harry hears me calling you my _girlfriend_ he might slit my throat while I sleep. And I really don’t want to die before I hit thirteen. Harry likes you _quite_ a lot, in case that has slipped your attention. I think murdering a love rival is well within his remit!”

Hermione felt the floor disappear beneath her feet. Her heart throbbed hard as she gripped onto the breakfast bench for support.

“H-has he told you that?” Hermione asked shyly.

“No, but it’s obvious,” Neville replied simply. “He talks about you all the time. Literally, he never shuts up about you. It’s actually quite boring. But it does help the rest of us fall asleep. Then there’s the picture.”

“Picture? What picture?”

“He has a picture of you on his nightstand, didn’t you know?” Neville quipped. “It’s one of you holding Hedwig down by the Great Lake. He _claims_ he keeps it there because of his owl, but he’s not fooling anyone. Even _Ron_ knows better than to go anywhere near the photo. It’s like Harry’s most precious thing, so we all stay far away. I keep trying to catch him kissing it before bed, because I’m sure he does. But by the time Harry blows out his candle the rest of us are all snoring away after listening to the latest chapter of _What Hermione Did Today!_ ”

“Shut up, Neville!” Hermione told him off, grinning madly as she did so. He smiled warmly at her. “You wont tell him, will you? What I just told you?”

“Of course I wont,” Neville replied. “But maybe you should. I think he’d like to hear _that_!”

“Not right now he wouldn’t,” Hermione grumbled. “He’s very upset with me.”

“Why? What did you do? Shy of getting a boyfriend, I think Harry will forgive you almost anything!”

“I hope you’re right,” Hermione returned. “I really hurt Harry’s feelings, that’s all you need to know. But I need to find him and start making it up to him. Where could he be, do you think?”

“Well, I _did_ hear a certain _Miss Perks_ say she was heading to the Quidditch Pitch after breakfast,” Neville answered dryly. “And she tends to make a beeline for Harry when you aren’t around to protect him!”

Hermione leapt up like she’d been set alight. She squeezed Neville’s shoulder in thanks and raced from the Great Hall. The cold air of the morning hit Hermione bracingly as she shot into it without any sort of cloak or coat to protect her. But she was driven by restless adrenaline now, and that would just have to be enough to keep her warm.

The Quidditch Pitch soon loomed up ahead. Hermione’s heart gave a hopeful bound as she saw the snow-white plumage - that undoubtedly belonged to Hedwig - soaring over the stands. She was keeping pace with a broom that was doing laps of the stadium. A _single_ broom, Hermione noticed happily.

Then it fell out of sight. Hermione reached a turn in the stepped seating and noticed Harry standing a short distance away. Hedwig was perched protectively on his shoulder and both boy and owl seemed as one. If Hermione hadn’t known better, she’d have _sworn_ Hedwig was Harry’s _dæmon_ … their bond was simply that obvious.

Harry seemed to realise he was being watched just then, as he turned to look at her. He started to walk away but Hermione put on a burst of speed to try and reach him before he escaped.

“Harry!” she called out. “Please wait!”

“Go away,” Harry snapped back. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“I know, but I want to talk to _you_!” Hermione volleyed back. “Please … I need to explain -”

“There’s nothing _to_ explain,” Harry spat. The hurt in his voice caused Hermione to ache, as though his pain were her own. “Just leave me alone.”

“No! Not until you listen to me!”

Harry stopped and rounded on her. “Look, I’ve already had to set Hedwig on Pap so that _he_ would go away. Don’t make me have her peck at you, too!”

Hedwig barked angrily in readiness and flapped her wings aggressively. Hermione recoiled in her wariness.

“Harry, please! I need to talk to you!”

“Tough! I’m flying today. Leave me be!”

And with that, Harry kicked off and took flight once more. Hermione watched him speed away, as her anxiety threatened to overwhelm her fraught brain.

There was only one thing for it.

“Up!” Hermione commanded to the wobbly old Comet 360 that she found in the broom shed. The aged broom jumped into her hand. It didn’t feel anything like as steady as Harry’s Nimbus when Hermione had practiced with _that_ , but it would have to do. Hermione mounted it, wondering at the odd vibration that made it feel as if the Comet wanted to fly off on its own orbit around Hogwarts.

Hermione took a terrified breath, then pushed up into the air.

She squeaked shrilly as she went higher and higher. The sound alerted Harry, who span sharply to watch. Up and up Hermione flew until she was roughly on a level with Harry, even though he was half the stadium away.

Then Hermione looked _down_ … and promptly froze in her panic.

She was at least seventy feet in the air, and she’d never been a great fan of high places. Her mind began to tailspin in a gout of vertigo, as the stadium swam in her dizzy vision and the floor seemed a _long_ way away. And very hard, too. She took her hands off the broom and held them over her eyes, not bearing to look.

The broom tilted upwards at the movement, then began to list and roll to the left … then oddly _righted itself._

Hermione peeked through her fingers. She lost her breath as she saw Harry practically nose-to-nose with her. He was sitting expertly astride his broom, but holding _hers_ steady with his hands. His face was white and terrified.

“What are you doing!” he hissed desperately. “You’re going to get yourself killed! What are you doing up here!?”

“I _have_ to talk to you! And this is the only way!” Hermione squeaked in a frightened voice.

“But you hate flying!” Harry cried back.

“No, I-I hate _h-heights_!” Hermione corrected with a stutter. “I actually quite _like_ flying … so long as it’s _lower down_.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin, in spite of the fact that he was supposed to be angry with his best friend.

“But you _aren’t_ low down. We are seventy-odd feet in the sky!”

“I know! I’m trying not to think about it!”

“Well you’d _better_ think about it!” Harry shot back. “We have to get you down.”

“I-I don’t think I can!” Hermione confessed. “Harry …. I’m scared.”

“It’s alright,” he soothed. “I’ve got you. It’ll be okay.”

“You wont let me fall?”

“I wont. I promise.”

“Even though you’re mad at me?”

“Mad as all hell!” Harry grinned. “But I’m expecting the explanation to be _epic_ if you’ve flown all this way to tell me about it!”

Hermione felt her heart literally melt as Harry smiled at her. It was her own personal smile from him, she knew that innately somehow. It was a smile Harry kept for her and no-one else. And _he_ looked like he knew it, too. Later - when they were all cosy and intimate again - she was determined to tease him about how easy it was to get him to forgive her indiscretions.

But they had to get her to the ground in one piece first.

“Right,” Harry announced in a business-like manner. “I wouldn’t trust that broom you're on to sweep the floor with, let alone fly! It’s _ancient_. So … you’re going to have to jump onto _mine_.”

“Jump?” Hermione replied, her lip trembling.

“Well, maybe not _literally!”_ Harry laughed. “But I’m going to fly right alongside you, then you just slide over onto my broom.”

“Will it take the weight of us both?”

“Hermione - you’re a skinny little thing!” Harry exclaimed. “I’m sometimes amazed you cant fly _without_ a broom. A decent gust of Scottish wind should be enough to give you lift off!”

“I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere!” Hermione scoffed. “But we’ll leave it till later. Right … I’m ready.”

Harry nodded, then eased his Nimbus up until it was parallel with Hermione’s old Comet. When the broom noses were touching Hermione hauled her leg over the bough of the Nimbus and shifted her thighs until she was sitting right in front of Harry. She pressed her back firmly into his chest and felt the astonishing warmth and solidness of him.

Hermione’s breath vanished somewhere at the contact. Her heartbeat must have gone with it, as she couldn’t feel it anymore, but Hermione wasn’t afraid of the loss. She could feel Harry’s own pounding heartbeat against her spine, as his right arm came around her and gripped his broom firmly. His firm beat was powerful enough to keep the both of them alive, Hermione was certain of that.

“What should I do with this?” Harry asked breathlessly, holding up the spare broom as Hermione fully became his passenger.

“Let it go free,” Hermione quirked.

So Harry did. He eased his grip on the Comet, which hovered a moment under lack of human control, then flew off wildly in the general direction of the Forbidden Forest.

“You promise you wont let me go now, will you Harry?” Hermione whispered, tugging Harry’s other arm around her slightly shivering frame.

“You’re cold,” Harry observed gently.

“Freezing,” Hermione confirmed.

“Let’s get you somewhere warm,” Harry replied.

“D-don’t let go.”

“Never,” Harry breathed into Hermione’s hair. She shuddered as his hot breath traced along the goosebumps of her neck … or had it _caused them_?

Either way, Hermione grabbed onto Harry’s arms for dear life as he slowly circled in a shallow descent. She was eminently thankful that he was so considerate of her fears, choosing to take his time rather than simply fall into a steep dive. It also allowed Hermione to enjoy the situation they were in.

For if she closed her eyes _really_ tightly she could imagine that this wasn’t actually a rescue … it was really a _cuddle_.

The thought made her grin stupidly to herself as Harry landed them gently on the grass. He jumped off first, offering an arm to help her dismount. Hermione ignored his outstretched forearm, and chose instead to interlock their fingers. Harry didn’t seem to mind that one little bit. He was still holding her hand as a voice suddenly reached them on the wind.

“Oh … are you finishing, Harry? I thought we could fly together today.”

“Not today, Sally. Sorry,” Harry replied simply, turning to the Hufflepuff girl as she approached.

“No, today Harry is _taken_ ,” Hermione added, curling into Harry’s shoulder and smiling at him.

Harry grinned smugly and just shrugged as Sally-Anne hitched a crestfallen look onto her face.

“What she said!” Harry confirmed, then guided a laughing Hermione away from the Quidditch Stadium.

* * *

Harry and Hermione spent the day pretending to be satellites of the Great Lake. Or at least, they orbited it so many times that they might as well have been. They both launched into a confused set of apologies and attempted explanations for why they had each been acting so bizarrely, but they made almost no sense. In the end, Harry took charge and demanded to know what he had done to upset Hermione in the first place.

“I wasn’t really _upset_ ,” Hermione told him. “You just seemed to forget about me on your birthday … after you met Maria Edge.”

“Oh! Is _that_ what it was!” Harry cried in something like relief. “I suppose I can see where you’re coming from. I was a bit star-struck, I have to admit.”

“Star-struck!” Hermione choked humorously. “You spent the entire time with your tongue hanging out!”

Harry blushed deeply. “Well … she _is_ a good-looking star!”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I suppose she is.”

“But that doesn’t excuse me being a dick. I’m sorry. It was a great present - the best one I had. I really enjoyed myself … I thought you did, too.”

“I did … till the end.”

Harry frowned in his confusion. “But I don’t get it. I thought _you_ liked the Weird Sisters, too? Weren’t you excited to meet them after the show?”

“I was,” Hermione agreed. “But I hoped we could enjoy it together. In the end it was like you didn’t need me there at all.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled reticently. “You didn’t deserve that, especially after all the trouble you went to arranging it. I was a muppet. Forgive me?”

“Only if you forgive _me_ ,” Hermione insisted. “For not meeting you last night … or for the dozen other instances of me being a total gimboid to you lately. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Then let’s talk about _that_ ,” Harry replied seriously. “Tell me about this diary, what it’s been doing, and where this dirty creep Lockhart fits into it.”

Harry was suddenly so angry that his magic flared again. A bramble bush on the side of the path caught fire with the expulsion, and Hermione had to put it out with water from her wand.

“Calm, Harry,” Hermione soothed. “Lockhart hasn’t _done_ anything. Well, you know, like _that_.”

“I should hope not,” Harry snorted acidly. “And at least you’ve stopped calling him _Gildy!”_

“Oh dear, was I really calling him that!?” Hermione asked in abject horror. Harry nodded semi-teasingly. “Well, that’s _one_ habit I’m dropping right now!”

“What happened though?” Harry pressed.

“I really don’t know,” Hermione confessed. “I’m still trying to work it out. One moment I was scoffing at him, the same as you do, next minute he’s all I’m thinking about. If I didn’t know better I’d say I was … _love potioned_.”

The thought hit Hermione like a thunderbolt of disgust.

“You can brew _love_?” Harry asked in astonishment. “I didn’t know that.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you cant,” Hermione told him haughtily. “You cant fabricate love any more than you can whip up a batch of abject hatred. Such things are too raw and powerful to be created artificially. What you _can_ brew is obsession and infatuation. And lust, as a by-product. No, Harry, if you ever fall in love, you’ll know the difference. You’ll know it’s real.”

“I-I will?” Harry stuttered. “How?”

Hermione smiled prettily at the look Harry was giving her. Her heart was doing flips.

“You just will. Your heart will tell you.”

“I just hope I’ll know the language when it does,” Harry answered shyly. “I think I’d like to be in love.”

“Y-you would?”

Harry nodded. “My Mum and Dad seem to like it. Sirius, too - even though he wont admit he _is_ in love. So it must be a good thing, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes, very good,” Hermione replied breathily.

“But you _weren’t_ in love, were you?” Harry asked in a painfully tiny voice. “With Lockhart, I mean?”

“No!” Hermione shrieked. “Not at all! But someone wanted me to _think_ I was.”

“Lockhart?” Harry hissed angrily.

“Maybe,” Hermione mused. “But maybe … Tom Riddle. Perhaps _both_.”

Harry gasped in shock. “Lockhart … and _Voldemort_? But why?”

“Like I said, I don’t know yet,” Hermione answered. “I’m going to find out for sure, but I can only guess at this point.”

Harry stopped Hermione and turned her bodily to face him. “Then tell me your guesses. I trust them more than most cold hard facts.”

Hermione blushed hard. It was so difficult not to just reach out and kiss Harry right now. But maybe that would spook him too much. It didn’t seem the right time, but it was so tempting.

“Okay, this is my working guess,” Hermione began. “The diary got to me. It was powerful enough to block my thoughts from Pap’s. That’s frightening enough. But it also tried to stop _us_ from being friends anymore. It was only the terror of _that_ which allowed me to break it’s hold on me. You’re my best friend, Harry Potter, and I never want to lose you.”

Harry blushed at Hermione’s words and looked at his shoes. “I … I don’t want to lose you either. I thought I _had_. It made me so sad.”

“Hey, that hasn’t happened,” Hermione hushed softly, easing Harry’s drooped head back up. “And we wont let it, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry agreed firmly. “Friends forever?”

Harry held out his hand again, but Hermione disregarded that. Instead, she stepped in close and wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck.

“I prefer _hugs_ to handshakes,” she whispered in a trembly voice.

“Me too,” Harry hummed back, shyly snaking his arms around her waist. They held the pose for seven full seconds, then seemed to simultaneously realise what they were doing and snapped apart as if they’d been electric-shocked.

“Okay then,” Harry started in a high-pitch. “So you think this diary somehow put an enchantment on you?”

“That’s my guess, yes.”

“How? That would take some seriously Dark Magic.”

“Which is why I suspect Tom Riddle,” Hermione explained. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Pap was affected, too. And who else knows about _my world_ and is nefarious enough to try and hurt my dæmon?”

“Apart from someone who has practised such Dark Magic on his _own_!” Harry hissed. “That utter scumbag! Pap … he is okay, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. As dopey as ever but otherwise unharmed!” Hermione joked.

“I hope Hedwig didn’t peck him _too_ hard,” Harry grimaced. “Her beak is as sharp as her bark!”

Hermione laughed at that. “Pap will be fine. He’s a stern old goat.”

“So where does Lockhart fit into this?” Harry went on. “It would be quite the coincidence to have _two_ Defence Professors under the influence of Voldemort.”

“I don’t think we can rule it out, Harry,” Hermione replied darkly. “I mean, think about it - we both know that Lockhart is a total fraud. He can barely _spell_ spell, let alone _cast_ one. But yet the entire world and his Grim eat up his books like they are gospel.”

“What are you suggesting? That he somehow uses his books to _hoodwink_ people?” Harry gasped in astonishment.

“I don’t know. All I see is the evidence of Lockhart’s ineptitude standing in opposition to his published works. People _know_ him, know how limited he is as a wizard. But yet he has the world convinced he’s done all the things he’s written about. Something just doesn’t add up.”

“And, when you factor these diaries into it, it reeks of Dark Magic,” Harry scowled thoughtfully. “But I was talking to Neville about it, and he agreed. _Our_ dream diaries don’t have the words fade into them. But _yours_ does. That’s worrying.”

“I’d call it _sinister_ ,” Hermione corrected. “Because the girls in my dorm say it happens to all of _their_ s _,_ too. It seems to just affect the girls of the school.”

Harry swore loudly, then apologised immediately. “So what you’re saying … is that Lockhart knows all the dreams of the girls in the school … by using these diaries to get them to confess to him?”

“It would seem that way,” Hermione nodded. “But I think, somehow, that the diaries _feed back_ into the girls. Lockhart must have some sort of power with words. It makes people believe whatever he writes.”

“And he has written that you should all be in love with him!”

“Something like that,” Hermione blushed. “But I wouldn’t put it past him for him to be convincing us all to brew our own love potions, to make ourselves obsessed with all things Lockhart! If we do it to ourselves, he cant be accused of anything.”

“That’s Dark Magic if ever I’ve heard of it!” Harry cried. “It’s a violation! An outrage! He put an enchantment on you!”

“But I _broke_ it,” Hermione reminded him quickly. “Because of my lo - … lovely _friendship_ with you. It saved me.”

Harry swallowed hard and tried to bring his pulse under control. It was misbehaving again.

“Do you … do you think Voldemort _taught_ Lockhart some sort of Dark Spell?” Harry pondered.

“I don’t know, Harry, but one thing is for certain,” Hermione replied quietly. “Tom Riddle was trying to be a Dictator … and every Dictator needs a publicist, someone to spread their doctrine. Even Lord Voldemort wouldn’t change hearts and minds without someone skilled at _propaganda._ Someone had to be penning his speeches and slogans _”_

 _“_ And now he’s teaching us a perverted version of Defence,” Harry breathed. “Not only that, but he has access to _you_ … to _us_. You think Voldemort called in a favour from Lockhart?”

“That’s my guess,” Hermione confirmed. “And it’s further strengthened by the voice that I heard last night. The one _you_ heard on my birthday.”

“How so?”

“Think about it, Harry!” Hermione implored. “What is it that you and Tom Riddle can do, but nobody else we know can?”

Harry thought a minute. “We can speak to snakes!”

“Exactly!” Hermione nodded excitedly. “And that’s what I think I heard. I don’t know what it was, or what it means, but I heard a voice that wasn’t there. And it wasn’t a _human_ voice. And if we assume that Tom Riddle had taken control of my mind, then maybe the effect had lingered long enough for me to hear the voice of some sort of serpent nearby.”

“But how will we know for sure?”

“We hunt it down … together,” Hermione insisted firmly. “And if we hear the same thing again we’ll know I’m right. So I’m going to keep the diary close for a little bit. I wont write in it again, but I will read it a bit, just to keep the connection going.”

“No, that’s too dangerous,” Harry told her, shaking his head. “I wont let you do it.”

“It’s alright, Harry,” Hermione smiled. “I’m immune now. I have you to protect me. I can do this … _we_ can do it, if we stay true to each other.”

They shared a hard but determined look. Harry knew Hermione wouldn’t budge an inch on this.

“Okay. But at the first sign of trouble I’m pulling you out. Deal?” Harry insisted. “And you keep me close at all times.”

Hermione flushed shyly. “I can promise _that_ for sure!”

“Come on then,” Harry replied, heart fluttering wildly. “Let’s hunt us some snake!”

With that they raced back to the school. Unbeknownst to _them,_ though, was that while they were making up something had beaten them to the hunt …

And it had already claimed its first victim.


	8. Family Reunions

There was a commotion around the Dippet Quad, the flagstoned courtyard which sat neatly between the library on one side and the Charms classrooms on the other. There was an open channel at the north-east corner, which led to the long stone staircase coming up from the boathouse. A large cluster of students had gathered there to gawk at something, all whispering excitedly as they did so.

And though the throng of students was large, it was _nothing_ compared to the size of the thing they were all staring at.

“Hermione!” Harry breathed as they joined the crowd. “Is that a -”

“Yes! It's a _panserbjorne!”_ Hermione confirmed excitedly. “And that’s not just any armoured bear, either. But what's he doing _here_?”

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. “You say that like a giant polar bear in thick armour is an every day sight around here! So what’s so special about that one?”

“He’s special because that’s … Iorek!”

Hermione called out and waved as the great bear-king stood on his hind legs to see her. The crowd hushed and gasped, then parted as the bear moved forwards and through them. Harry saw then that it wasn’t just the bear who was drawing the crowd’s attention. There were three people, too, and a black owl.

And the bird wasn’t the only _Black_ thing on display.

“ _Sirius_!”

Harry bounded forwards and barrelled into his Godfather, who wrapped protective arms around him.

“Hey kiddo,” Sirius barked back at him. “Your hair’s getting long. Bout time you took the shears to it!”

“Nevermind that!” Harry chastised him. “You’re back! You’re alive! Maybe I should have said the second part first!”

Sirius hooted out a laugh. “And a swashbuckling tale it is, too! Involving me battling with bears and witches and giant serpents … which is why we’re here. Hermione - we need to talk … in private.”

Harry felt his stomach lurch. There was just that _something_ in his Godfather’s face just then. A grimace of sorts. He’d come with bad news.

“What is it?” Hermione asked cautiously. She’d seen the expression too. “What’s happened? Is it Lyra? Is she okay?”

“Lyra’s fine. If she wasn’t, old Pan up there would have told me,” Sirius replied, nodding towards the owl circling above them. “No this isn’t about Lyra … it’s about your _actual_ parents. They’ve been _attacked.”_

Hermione’s breath left her in a shocked rush. She clutched at her heart and took a fistful of Iorek’s fur in her fingers.

“Attacked? By whom?” she whispered frantically.

“Not out here,” Sirius warned darkly, glancing around at the crowd. “Don’t want to start a panic. There must be an empty classroom round here somewhere. King Iorek - will you guard the door?”

“None shall pass,” the bear-king replied in a gruff growl, sitting powerfully near the entrance way to that wing of the school.

Sirius nodded a thanks, then guided Hermione into the cool corridors outside the Charms classrooms. They found an empty room and Sirius herded them inside. Once the door was closed, Harry turned to the two strangers who were accompanying Sirius.

“Who are _you_?” he asked brusquely.

Hermione, who was pale with worry and deep in thought, suddenly squeaked next to Harry as she looked up.

“Oh my! Frank and Alice!” she exclaimed. “Harry - this is Neville’s Mum and Dad!”

Harry blinked in his surprise, as the Longbottoms smiled warmly at him.

“And you must be Harry Potter!” Frank Longbottom exclaimed.

“Must be?” Harry asked, somewhat suspiciously.

“You’re a spitting image of your father, but you have your mother’s eyes,” Alice went on kindly. “We were great friends, you know. I was carrying Neville when Lily was pregnant with you. I miss her so very much. Tell me she’s well.”

“She’s very well, thank you for asking,” Harry beamed at her. “I’m sure she’ll be just thrilled to see you again. But, Hermione told me you weren’t able to return to this world. She said you could only be _whole_ in that other world?”

“And she was right,” Frank explained. “And then Sirius shared a little secret with us.”

“What secret?” Harry pushed, looking at his Godfather.

“The secret that long ago I combined magic from this world with the nature of humanity found in that one,” Sirius explained. “I was able to extract my dæmon to exist _there_ , but then put her back inside me to live here. Without being able to do that, I’d have died in either world within about ten years.

“Eventually, Hermione will have to learn to do the same … or return to her world for good. And - before you ask, Harry - no, you wouldn’t be able to go with her if she decided to return home. You’d die there in just the same way I would have.”

Hermione looked at Harry in a strange way just then. He couldn’t rightly say what she was thinking, but he had the feeling it was the same mind-blowing thought passing through _his_ mind. That they were going to be together for a _long_ time, so long, in fact, that one or both of them would have to make fundamental changes to their very natures in order to ensure it happened.

And that meant something big for them … no, something _huge_. Harry knew what it was, and swallowed hard as the idea flitted through his brain and set his heart to rapid pulsing. But it was more than that, because Hermione looked sheepish, as though someone had given away her deepest secret against her will. Did … did she _know_? Had she always known and not told him?

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But he was equally confused that _Sirius_ seemed to know about this, too. They both knew about this deep, serious connection that Harry had with Hermione. And they’d kept it from him.

But in that instant he decided he didn’t care about that. Not one bit.

For he was filled up with an emotion so powerful and lovely that it was on the verge of overwhelming him. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do with it. It seared through his veins and warmed every inch of his skin, inside and out. He outright stared at Hermione with a dizzy sort of grin on his face. She gazed back, mildly puzzled at the look he was giving her.

Harry decided he didn’t mind if Hermione was confused right now, because he was too. And it was a terrifying and exhilarating confusion at that. But, if he was right about what Sirius meant, they had a whole lifetime to work it all out. And it didn’t much matter what world they were going to do it in, because they would be together wherever they were. That was all that mattered.

And as long as _that_ was true, everything else would be alright.

But there were other things that _weren’t_ alright, and the others were talking about it as Harry tried to recover his overloaded senses from these mind-shattering revelations.

“So Sirius showed us how to, essentially, _re-fuse_ our souls to our bodies,” Frank was explaining. “We were only able to live in Ice Station Zebra because Serafina and her witches had created a pocket of our world in theirs. We were never able to leave the institute for very long.”

“Right where the gateway was opened,” Hermione nodded sagely. “I did wonder why I never saw your dæmons when I was with you, but you never had ones, did you? I thought that toad of yours was a dæmon at first, but my Pap told me he wasn’t.”

“No,” Alice confirmed. “But we were able to possess Trevor for short periods. I was inside him with Neville on that first train ride to Hogwarts. We wanted to make sure he got to school okay. Then I saw him meet _you_ , Hermione. And I knew he would be fine after that.”

Hermione blushed shyly and looked down at her shoes. “Thank you,” she managed to mutter back.

“You _possessed_ Neville’s toad?” Harry asked with a frown. “That sounds very much like what Voldemort does with his snake.”

“That’s where we got the idea,” Frank quirked over at him. “But we just wanted to keep an eye on our son, not attack witches we were developing a blood feud against!”

“Thomas Riddle is developing a … a _blood feud_ … against _me_!” Hermione cried lowly, the colour draining from her face. “Why?”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” Harry cut in guiltily. “This is all my fault. He’s after you because of us being friends.”

Hermione snapped her head at him. “If you are about to _dare_ to suggest that we stop being friends because of _him,_ then I’m going to be very cross with you, Harry!”

“But he’s after you! He’s trying to hurt you,” Harry whined. “I don’t want you to get hurt on account of me.”

Hermione stepped close to Harry and placed a soft hand to his forearm as she smiled at him. Harry shuddered crazily at the contact with Hermione’s skin.

“Not being friends with you would hurt far more than _anything_ Voldemort could do to me,” Hermione whispered gently. “So I’m not giving you up, okay?”

Harry smiled weakly. “Okay.”

“But,” Hermione went on, letting go of Harry’s arm and addressing Sirius once more. “This blood feud? Is that what you’re about to tell me … about my parents?”

Sirius nodded in confirmation.

“What happened?” Hermione demanded.

“We went to see them, after I escaped the bears,” Sirius began. “We wanted to use the two-way mirror, so you could tell Harry I was alright. I half expected him to try and come charging to my rescue as soon as he knew the portal had been closed. You know how he worries like a big girl!”

“I do not!” Harry protested.

“You sort of _do_ ,” Hermione teased. “You’ll develop a _saving-people-thing_ if you’re not careful!”

“Right, I definitely wont do _that_ then!” Harry huffed mutinously. “You can all boil your fat heads for all I care!”

Sirius and Hermione laughed together as Harry pouted away in the corner.

“So, my parents?” Hermione urged.

“Yes, we went to see them,” Sirius continued. “But we weren’t the only ones there. Tom Riddle and agents of the Magisterium were interrogating your parents, trying to find out information on you. We fought them, got your parents away. But then Riddle unleashed a secret weapon.”

“What weapon?”

“A giant serpent,” Sirius replied. “A basilisk. He has a way with such creatures. It jumped right up from the canal near where your parents house is.”

“Oh no!” Hermione moaned. “They didn’t … _look at it_ , did they?”

Sirius nodded, and Hermione let out a hearty whine from in the depths of her throat.

“Is that _bad_?” Harry asked, immediately concerned.

“Usually, it is _fatal_ ,” Sirius revealed.

Hermione looked up in hope. “Usually?”

“Usually,” Sirius grinned smugly. “Somehow, we aren’t sure how, but your parents didn’t look _directly_ at the basilisk. Maybe the water obscured it, or maybe it was something else, but they didn’t get the full effect of the Stare.”

“So … they are still alive!?” Hermione cried in relief.

Sirius nodded. “Yes, but only just. They are in a Petrified state, but they are safe. We took them to the Ice Station, where Iorek and his bears are keeping watch over them. We came here to procure a Mandrake Restorative Solution. Iorek will return with it once we’ve located a batch.”

Harry let out a huge breath, that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, as Hermione slumped down into a chair and closed her eyes, sighing heavily.

“But we don’t think this is the end of the danger,” Frank took over. “Nor of the basilisk.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Tom Riddle has a way with these serpents,” Sirius went on. “He sent one to kill Hermione’s parents, to draw you out into the open where you were vulnerable. It failed … but after the events of last year he now knows exactly where to find you. And because of _that …_ ”

“He will be coming,” Hermione supplied grimly, opening her eyes once more.

“You can bet on it,” Sirius returned with similar gravity.

“He may already be here,” Harry interjected. “We, Hermione and I, have been hearing … well, _voices_. In the walls. We think it might be from a snake, because _I_ can talk to them, too.”

“Yes, the residue of some of Riddle’s magic remains in you, from when he attacked you as a baby,” Sirius nodded. “But how did _Hermione_ hear the voices?”

“We …” Harry began, throwing a cautionary look at Hermione, who nodded at him to continue. “We think she might have been being _possessed_ , by a diary she was using.”

Sirius went pale in his shock and anger. Then he recovered himself, anger first.

“Hermione - get me that diary,” he ordered. “Right now. I don’t care what you might have written in it, I just need to see it.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione replied meekly. She threw a bizarrely terrified look at Harry, flushed crimson, then scuttled away from the room with her head bowed.

Sirius turned to Harry as soon as Hermione was gone. “Tell me everything about this that I need to know. Leave nothing out.”

So Harry began his tale, starting with Hermione’s change of mood after his birthday, but Sirius stopped him almost right away.

“Hermione told you she was upset because of a _diary_ that night … and you _believed_ her?” Sirius asked with a wry grin.

“Yes,” Harry replied, slightly confused. “What other reason would she have?”

“Can you not think of one?” Sirius pushed, a smile curling at the edge of his lips.

“Not off the top of my head, no.”

“You prattle on about a pretty witch and you don’t understand why that might have upset Hermione?”

“No. Maria Edge _is_ pretty. Even Hermione says so.”

"And do you like it when Hermione talks about handsome wizards?" Sirius asked curiously.

Harry was immediately hit with a thought about all the times that Hermione had talked about Lockhart. Swooned over him, actually. It stirred a sort of corrosive force in his chest that Harry didn't understand at all.

"What's _that_ got to do with anything?" he stabbed acidly. Lockhart was even on his _tongue_ , it would seem. 

Sirius shook his head in dismay. “You really are as dense as your father, aren’t you? When you come home at Christmas, you and I are going to have a long, _long_ talk about things.”

“What things?”

“You being blind even while wearing glasses for one!” Sirius laughed. “Now, carry on with the story.”

Harry frowned, but did as he was told. He was just getting to the part about finding Hermione in Lockhart’s office on her birthday night, when the girl herself skidded back into the room. She looked frantic.

“It’s gone! It’s gone!” Hermione puffed out shrilly. “My diary … it’s gone! Someone’s taken it from my room!”

Before anyone could respond, there was another sound of commotion from the corridor, followed by pounding footsteps as someone burst through the door.

“Hermione! I thought that was your voice. You’ll never guess what’s happened! Someone has gone and _murdered_ all of Hagrid’s chickens! They’ve had their heads cut clean off! Hagrid’s going mental … just barged into the Great Hall covered in blood and feathers demanding Dumbledore take action. We all have to meet for a special assembly. Where’s Harry?”

Neville Longbottom then looked around the room, but it wasn’t Harry who made him lose his breath, as just then his eyes fell onto two of the _other_ people in the room. His shock was almost enough to give him a sudden heart attack, as he whispered out -

“Mum? Dad? Is that _you_?”


	9. The Next Victims

Neville stood in shock for a few moments, then thundered into a twin embrace from his parents. Tears flowed from all three, and even Hermione looked moist-eyed. Harry turned away modestly until the Longbottoms had spent their happy reunion tears and Neville immediately began talking.

“How is this possible?” Neville asked in a hushed voice. “You’re out of the hospital … and you’re awake … and you’re _okay!_ How?!”

Alice smiled down fondly at her son. “We have Mr Black, here, to thank for that.”

Neville looked over at Sirius. He still retained an air of caution around the once-accused murderer, but that pretence fell away as his face cracked into a wide smile.

“Thank you, Mr Black,” Neville beamed. “How did you do it?”

Sirius barked out his trademark laugh. “We don’t have anything _like_ the sort of time to explain that right now. But, luckily for you, you have a very expert source, in this young lady right here. She can do a better job of explaining than any of us.”

Neville cocked a curious eye at Hermione, who coloured slightly under the attention. Then she thought she’d better offset any potentially awkward confessions later.

“I knew about your parents, Neville,” she disclosed in a small voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but they asked me not to. In any case, it’s not an easy thing to explain.”

“It really isn’t,” Harry agreed supportively, for Neville was looking hurt at the revelation. “But we’ll explain all that we know later. That’s a promise.”

“Try not to be upset, Nev,” Frank cajoled. “When we met Hermione - which was over a year ago now - we weren’t able to return to you like this. It’s not her fault that our situation was kept from you. This is all very new for everyone concerned.”

“But _great_ new _,”_ Alice nodded keenly.

That cheered Neville up again, as he wrapped his mother up in another hug.

“Okay, so that’s _that_ out of the way,” Sirius went on with a smirk. “Now what’s this you were saying about murdered poultry?”

Neville unfolded from his mother’s embrace once more. “Hagrid keeps chickens and roosters, but someone has _butchered_ them. It must have been quite horrific by the way Hagrid was going so crazy. Why would someone do that?”

Hermione leaned in close to whisper in Harry’s ear. Her breath tickled his skin as she spoke.

“It _must_ be a basilisk then! The cry of the rooster is fatal to it, I read about that somewhere. That must be why someone killed them!”

“Do you think we should tell Neville?” Harry whispered back.

“No, he might panic … or start a mass one.”

They were huddled conspiratorially now, and it drew everyone’s attention.

“What are you nattering about so privately?” asked Sirius. “If you have any thoughts, share them with the group!”

Harry looked guiltily at Hermione. “We thought … maybe …”

“Lockhart,” Hermione announced loudly. Harry looked at her in amazement. She was telling a downright _lie_ to the adults. There was something impressive about that, and Harry tried not to grin at her.

“Lockhart?” Sirius scoffed. “Not _Gilderoy_ Lockhart? But … why? What am I missing?”

“Oh! Of course! You don’t _know_!” Harry guffawed. “Well, you’d never guess, so I’d better tell you. Lockhart is _teaching_ us now.”

“What!” Sirius thundered. “You are joking, right? Please tell me you are!”

Harry shook his head with another quirked grin at Hermione, who pouted in reply. “Nope. He’s our new Defence Professor.”

“Oh sweet Merlin above!” Sirius exclaimed. “What in the world is Dumbledore _thinking_ hiring that cretin? You cant have learned a single thing this year then!”

“Oh we have,” Hermione cut across, desperately trying to find a way to defend Lockhart from Sirius’s impending attack. A fraud he may have been, but being a teacher still held some weight in Hermione's view. It earned Lockhart one last defence. “We have, you know, learned that he likes lilac, and wants harmony between all magical peoples … and to market his own range of hair care products!”

Harry choked out a laugh as Sirius slapped a hand to his forehead. “Useful stuff, then!”

“Well … harmony is good,” Hermione argued in a little voice. “ _I’d_ like harmony.”

“Wouldn’t we all!” Harry soothed.

“Dear me, I’m going to have to get Albus to explain that _particular_ moment of insanity to me before I return home,” Sirius declared, scratching the designer stubble on his chin. “But why would old Lockhart be killing chickens?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione mused, continuing her ruse. “Maybe there’s something in the blood he can use in a skincare balm or something. Vampiresses often bathe in blood to retain their youthful skin, don’t they?”

Sirius and Frank nodded with mirrored impressed expressions.

“A solid deduction,” said Frank. “Certainly worth considering. But, Nev, didn’t you say Dumbledore had called an assembly to address this?”

“Yeah, and we’d better get up there,” Neville confirmed. “Don’t want to seem suspicious by walking in late.”

“Lead on then, sweetheart,” Alice urged.

“Will you come too?” Neville asked. He sounded hopeful, almost as though he expected his parents to vanish if he took his eyes off them for too long.

“Yes, I think we’d better,” Alice replied as they left the classroom. “I think we ought to introduce ourselves to the Headmaster. He might wonder why two strange adults are wandering around his school without permission otherwise.”

But they hadn’t gone very far when they found their way barred by a large crowd. They were all reading something that had been daubed in huge letters on the wall at the foot of the Grand Staircase. Letters that were a suspicious shade of dripping _red …_

“Well, I think that clears up where the chicken blood went,” Harry hissed to Hermione as they read the words with a shudder.

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED!_

_THE UNWORTHY WILL TREMBLE AND DESPAIR!_

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Harry recited. "That sounds familiar. I'm sure my Dad mentioned something about that once. I cant remember what it was, though."

"Well, whatever it was, apparently it's open now," Hermione pointed out in a shivery voice.

"And someone wants everyone to know it is," Harry added.

“Why write it here, though?” Hermione asked quizzically. “I mean, I know it’s a visible spot and everything, but still.”

“Maybe it’s a clue?” Harry suggested. “It’s near the stairs, after all. Maybe it’s a reference to _The Stare_ you and Sirius were talking about. Hermione - maybe this isn’t a warning, but a _message_ to try and help.”

Hermione looked dubious. “If it is, it’s very vague.”

“Well, _I_ got it,” Harry argued. “And everyone keeps saying I’m not very perceptive, though I don’t know what that means!”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at that. She grabbed onto Harry and planted her head on his shoulder as she giggled away.

“You’d better hold on tight, Granger,” said a familiar drawl from behind them. “You’ll need Potter’s protection if that message is to be believed.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry spat acridly, spinning to glower at Draco Malfoy, who had sauntered up next to them. “And why’s that?”

“Don’t you know, Potter?” Malfoy taunted. “I thought you and this _know-it-all_ had all the answers.”

“For useful things, we do,” Hermione scowled.

“And you don’t think knowing that the Chamber of Secrets belonged to Salazar Slytherin is useful? Tut, tut, Granger. You really need to sort out your priorities.”

There was something dark in Malfoy’s taunt and Harry, who would usually have brushed anything _he_ had to say off, found himself drawn to believe him.

“Priorities?” Harry parroted. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Only this,” Malfoy sneered. “That Slytherin was a great wizard because he had _his_ priorities clear. No magical education to those who weren’t worthy … and _pure_. Sorry, but Mudbloods like this really wouldn’t have made the grade in Salazar’s day. I really wish they wouldn’t in _my_ day, either. Nevermind, let’s just hope whatever horror is lurking in that Chamber will kill you first, Granger.”

Harry lunged at Malfoy, but a strong arm from Sirius pulled him back like he was on a bungee cord. Harry struggled, but Sirius was much bigger and stronger than him. Than Malfoy, too, who he now towered over looking furious.

“You’re Lucius’ son, am I right?” Sirius growled. Malfoy baulked and swallowed with a nod. “Interesting, isn’t it, how your father managed to avoid Azkaban after the war? I met a few Death Eaters during my short stay there that would just _love_ to hear how he did it … and more than one Dementor who might find his rotten soul a tasty aperitif.”

The threat was clear, and Draco mumbled something incoherent as he backed away from Sirius’ vicious expression.

“I could have taken him,” Harry stabbed crossly, pulling away from Sirius’ hold at last.

“I don’t doubt it,” Sirius quipped in reply. “But I’d rather you not get expelled for breaking the nose of a little rat like Malfoy. Keep that temper of yours in check. That may have to be _your_ responsibility I’m afraid, Hermione!”

“I’ll do my best,” Hermione smiled. “But if _I_ punch Malfoy on the nose -”

“Then we will all cheer you and toast the event!” Sirius chuckled. “Now … where is the Headmaster?”

“Right here, Sirius,” Albus Dumbledore chimed from behind them. Harry wondered just how long he’d been standing there listening. He smiled benignly at them, as though Sirius’ random appearance was just another quirk of a day at Hogwarts.

“So, what do you make of this, old man?” Sirius sighed, nodding at the scrawl on the wall. “Could the Chamber really be open again?”

“I’m sorry, but … _again_?” Hermione asked. “Do you mean to say it has been opened before?”

“Indeed it has,” Dumbledore smiled down at her, causing her to blush. “It was fifty years ago at least. We can only hope that the events _then_ don’t repeat themselves _now_.”

“Why? What happened?” asked Harry.

“A number of Muggleborn students were attacked … and there was a fatality,” Dumbledore confessed solemnly. “I was already a teacher here, myself, at the time, but none of us were able to prevent what happened. The events ended as abruptly as they had begun. It was a simple demonstration of the power of the Heir of Slytherin, and what he could do to cause terror whenever he felt like it.”

“And someone was _killed_?” Harry asked in horror. “A student was actually murdered?”

Dumbledore nodded his confirmation.

“And did you ever find out who was responsible?” Hermione pressed.

“Indeed … it was the Heir of Slytherin,” Dumbledore replied cryptically. “Only he has the power to open the Chamber, to unleash whatever it is that hides inside. All _we_ can hope to do is find this evil when it emerges. Which is why Mr Black’s arrival here is timely.”

“It is?” asked Sirius, dubiously. "Why?"

“Merely so you can lead us to the victim of the fatality the _last_ time the Chamber was opened,” Dumbledore smiled. “I believe she was a _girlfriend_ of sorts to you, during your time here.”

Sirius drew in a shocked breath. “No … not _Myrtle!?_ ”

Hermione giggled at Harry’s side. He looked at her curiously. “What is it? What’s so funny?”

“Your Godfather went out with Myrtle!” Hermione chortled. “ _Moaning_ Myrtle! She’s the ghost that haunts the girl’s loo on the second floor!”

Harry grinned up at Sirius. “You went out with a ghost that haunts a toilet! Why am I not surprised? That’s just the sort of classy witch I’d expect to find with _you_!”

“Be quiet you,” Sirius admonished, as Harry joined Hermione in peeling laughter. “Albus, explain what you mean, if you will.”

“Myrtle was the unfortunate victim of whatever monster lurks in the Chamber,” Dumbledore explained. “If it has indeed been opened again, I was rather hoping she might be able to lead us to the mythical entrance. And, if memory serves, you had her quite under your sway. We might need that sort of persuasion.”

“Mmm,” Sirius agreed. “She never was the most pliant of ghosts. Come on then, lead the way Hermione. This is one reunion I am _not_ looking forward to!”

Harry rather thought it served Sirius right for being such a serial philanderer, but all thoughts of this were driven from his mind as they reached the disused bathroom. Hermione led the way inside, just in case one of the other girls of Hogwarts had been desperate enough for a wee to brave Myrtle’s cries. But the place was silent … even Myrtle was silent.

Then they all saw why.

“Oh my!” Hermione breathed.

“What … what’s _happened_ to her!” Harry gasped as he came up next to Hermione.

For Moaning Myrtle was not like the ghosts he was used to seeing. Instead of pearly white and translucent, she was black and smoky, floating horizontally a few feet off the floor. The look on her face was one of startled shock and confusion, contorted with a dash of horror.

“Sirius … is she?” Harry stuttered.

“Petrified,” Dumbledore assessed in an instant. “There are only a few creatures capable of producing such an effect. And I shudder to think of the havoc any one of them could wreak in a school full of students.”

“You should consider closing, send everyone home,” Sirius advised.

“A matter out of my hands,” Dumbledore returned. “In any case, we must be wise about spreading rumours that could lead to panic.”

Sirius pulled Dumbledore to one side when he spoke again, but his whispers still carried in the echoey bathroom.

“Then you’re convinced that the Chamber _is_ open? That the last person who called themselves the Heir of Slytherin - that _Voldemort_ \- is somehow ... back?”

Harry felt Hermione snatch at his arm as she heard the proclamation too. Harry slid his hand over hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. It just seemed the right thing to do. When he tried to move it away again, though, Hermione caught his retreating fingers with her own and pulled them back, in a clear statement of _stay where you are_. So Harry obliged.

“I do not know so much that he is back,” Dumbledore was saying. “But it certainly seems that he is here in some capacity. How he has managed the feat is something we need to investigate. And we must do so quickly.”

“What do you think his goal is?” Sirius asked quietly.

Dumbledore flicked a concerned look at Harry and Hermione, his electric gaze dropping to their interlaced fingers a moment.

“I think we must assume his plan is for vengeance, for his failure to acquire the Philosopher's Stone last year ... and the reasons that thwarted him. And if he can spread chaos and further his agenda in the process, he will. The last time he opened the Chamber was little more than an arrogant display of his power, but he still attempted to purge the school of the Muggleborn population through his targeted attacks. Lord Voldemort was never particularly imaginative, so we may reasonably assume that he will simply attempt to repeat his previous actions.”

“Then you must take steps to protect the Muggleborns,” Sirius insisted. “Starting with _that_ one.”

He gave a pointed nod towards Hermione, but Dumbledore simply smiled back at him.

“I rather think _that_ one is already well protected,” Dumbledore offered, causing Harry to puff out his chest at the blatant inference. “In any case, it would be impossible to develop a Muggleborn-specific protection enchantment. These are children, my dear Sirius. They cannot be so selectively fireproofed.”

Sirius huffed in his concern. “I suppose you are right. But I have to insist that you focus all your efforts on finding this Chamber. We may be able to guess what sort of monster lurks inside, but you have to stop it from entering the school and becoming a danger.”

“Quite,” Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “And I assure you that I will. But come now, let us get Miss Myrtle to somewhere more secluded. I imagine half the school is already aware of her fate, let us not make a spectacle of educating the ignorant half.”

* * *

That night, Harry and Hermione were part of a gaggle of Second Years clustering around the roaring fire of the Common Room. Ron and Seamus were engaged in a fierce battle on the Wizard’s Chess board, while Dean, Lavender and Parvati played rounds of Exploding Snap nearby. Fay Dunbar was giving Hermione a French Manicure, as she spell-checked Harry’s _History of Magic_ essay. Harry was - in turn - reading over Hermione's Potions assignment, which was on the complicated Polyjuice Potion, and wondering what it would be like to become another person for the day.

“Were those Neville’s parents I saw him with earlier?” Fay was asking, blowing on the nail varnish she’d just applied to Hermione’s index finger to dry it.

“Yes,” Hermione replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh nothing, I just thought they were in St Mungo’s, that’s all,” Fay explained. “Some sort of mental damage.”

“They were, but they’ve been undergoing some experimental treatment and it seems to be working,” Hermione invented. “Harry - you’ve spelt Emeric the Oddball wrong again. There’s only one ‘m’ in Emeric.”

“Are you sure?” Harry quirked over the top of Hermione’s Potions essay. She simply rolled her eyes as if affronted by the question. Harry grinned at his gentle teasing. “If you say so. But maybe that’s just the way I want to spell it!”

“Well I could always leave it like that,” Hermione replied sniffily. “Just don’t come crying to me when Binns marks you down for it.”

Harry chuckled as Hermione corrected the mistake with her quill. Fay grinned up at them from the floor.

“Glad to see you two are back to normal,” she remarked. “It was weird when you were being all … _weird_.”

“I blame Hermione,” Harry quipped from behind the safety of the parchment in his hands.

“I blame Hermione, too,” Hermione agreed sadly. “It was all Lockhart, getting into my head with that stupid diary. I hope you’ve stopped writing in _yours_ , Fay.”

“I never did to start with,” Fay replied bluntly. “I don’t want it getting out that I’m planning to invite Neville to the Halloween dance.”

“You’re asking Neville?” Hermione queried.

“I was going to,” Fay confirmed. “Why … were _you_ thinking of asking him?”

Harry snapped the Potions essay down and glared at Hermione, waiting for her answer. She curled a smile to her lips.

“Well, no-one’s asked _me_ yet, so I might have done,” Hermione replied lightly, enjoying the scandalised look on Harry’s face a moment. “But I wouldn’t be embarrassed about going with Neville.”

“Embarrassed? Who said I was embarrassed?” Fay shot back.

“You just said you wouldn’t want it getting out that you were going to ask him,” Hermione explained.

“Oh. No, I just meant I wouldn’t want anyone to beat me to it,” said Fay. “Neville’s a bit dishy this year. I bet lots of girls will be interested in asking him. So, _are_ you going to ask him, Hermione? It might be quite funny to make him choose between us!”

Hermione giggled. “Yes, I suppose it would. It depends if I have any other options, really.”

“Right, let’s settle this,” Harry cut in crossly. “Hermione - will you go to the Halloween Dance with me?”

Half the room seemed to go silent at Harry’s question. He looked at them all in turn, scowling as he did so.

Hermione blushed but kept her composure. “Of course I will, Harry,” she replied simply. The volume in the room returned to normal. “Thank you for asking me.”

“I didn’t think I _had_ to,” Harry told her, shaking his head. “I just assumed we’d go together, like last year.”

“To assume is ‘to make an ass out of u and me’,” Hermione explained haughtily. She giggled when Harry didn’t get the joke at all. “I was just _teasing_ , Harry. Of course I was going to go with you. Last year was fun. Let’s just hope we don’t run into any twelve-foot trolls this time, though!”

“Yeah, that sort of thing really puts a dampener on the evening!” Harry grinned, then went back to reading Hermione’s essay in peace. Fay and Hermione shared a knowing smirk, rolling their eyes at each other once Harry couldn’t see.

* * *

Later that night, when the Gryffindor girls were all getting ready for bed, Fay resumed their conversation about the diary.

“So,” Fay was saying. “Any luck finding the thief?”

“No, none,” Hermione complained bitterly. “Whoever it was must have used some powerful magic to get past the Recognition Enchantment, though.”

“I know we’ve already gone over this, but none of us let anyone in,” Lavender reassured her. “We promise.”

“Yeah,” Parvati nodded vigorously. “The secrets of the Dorm Seven Girls _stay_ in Dorm Seven.”

“Thanks, girls,” Hermione smiled. “I appreciate your support.”

“We stick together in here,” Lavender replied stoutly. “Our secrets belong to all of us, and we have to work together to protect them.”

“And find who stole _yours,_ Hermione,” Fay frowned. “But where to start?”

“It’s either a powerful witch or a magical creature,” Hermione remarked. “One powerful enough to get around the magic of Hogwarts.”

“That has an interest in you?” Parvati asked, skeptically. “I think a witch is more likely.”

“Me, too,” Hermione agreed. “But I don’t want to overlook anything.”

“What was _in_ the diary, that someone might have wanted?” Fay pressed. “Can you think of anything specific?”

“Juicy secrets about a certain boy with a scar that we all know, obviously!” Lavender giggled, causing Hermione to flush furiously.

“Secrets that you told to Lockhart!” Parvati added, curling her face in disgust. “I cant believe he knows _all_ our secrets! I feel violated!”

“But he didn’t make _you_ act all obsessed with him, did he?” Hermione mumbled. “He reserved that special treatment for me.”

Hermione bit her lip in her anxiety. Her first act, after learning about what her diary had done to her, was to quiz her fellow dorm witches about theirs. And while their diaries behaved in the same way as hers in some aspects, none had fed back into them and taken over their minds. Hermione was glad of that, but it served to ratchet up the horror of her own traumatizing possession.

“He’s a creep,” Fay spat. “I hope he gets what’s coming to him one day.”

“Do you think _he_ could have stolen the diary?” asked Lavender.

“Why would he need to?” Parvati pointed out. “If he already knows what’s in it?”

“Maybe he knew that Hermione had broken the enchantment he put on her, so wanted to get rid of the evidence,” Lavender suggested thoughtfully.

“You know, that’s not a bad shout,” Fay nodded. “Hey - you don’t think _he_ could have opened the Chamber of Secrets, do you?”

“Pfft!” Hermione laughed. “Not a chance. I wouldn’t trust him to open a packet of biscuits that was already open! He wouldn't be able to open the Chamber of Secrets even if you gave him a copy of _The Idiot's Guide on How to Open the Chamber Of Secrets - Junior Illustrated Edition_! Besides, why would he even want to?”

“I don’t know … to use as some sort of boudoir?” Fay suggested darkly. “If it was _secret,_ he could do all sorts of sordid things down there and no-one would know.”

Hermione shuddered at the possibility. It was far-fetched and unlikely, but the thought that _she_ might have ended up in such a place sent a thrill of icy dread prickling across her skin. She may have escaped his clutches just in time.

“I … I still don’t think it’s Lockhart,” Hermione stuttered uncertainly.

“Well, there’s always the _other_ rumour,” Lavender began cautiously.

“What rumour?” asked Hermione. She wasn’t sure she liked Lavender’s tone just then.

Lavender took a steadying gulp of air. “The rumour that it’s _you_ … that you opened the Chamber. That _you’re_ the Heir of Slytherin.”

Hermione blinked in her abject surprise. “What? Don’t be so ridiculous! Who said that?”

“It’s true,” Parvati nodded glumly. “I heard a couple of Third-Year Claws talking about it during choir practice earlier. They say that you were the only one who ever used that loo on the Second Floor. And that’s where Myrtle was attacked.”

“Add to that that you’re unusually gifted with magic, and you can see how a rumour like that could start,” Lavender added.

“I am not Slytherin’s Heir!” Hermione cried. “How could I be?”

“He lived over a thousand years ago, Hermione,” Fay pointed out gently. “For all we know … you _could_ be.”

Hermione, of course, knew it was impossible. She came from another world, after all. But there were doorways, passages between them. _Could she_ be the Heir of Slytherin? She was assuming that she could talk to snakes simply because Voldemort had possessed her for a time using the dream diary, but what if she was mistaken?

It certainly didn’t make for an easy night’s sleep.

* * *

As Halloween grew closer, people became more interested in the celebrations than the attack on Myrtle. The girls of the castle began to say it served her right for moaning all the time, and that whatever had attacked her must have just gotten as fed up of her as the rest of the school.

Some people even started thanking Hermione for shutting the ghost up when they passed her in the corridors. They went as far as asking her to use her ghost-attacking powers on Peeves next, especially when he started singing the stupid school anthem around the classrooms just for something to annoy them with. Hermione soon got bored of the continual references to her being the Heir of Slytherin, though, finally snapping at Harry when he suggested they went to the Halloween dance in matching Green and Silver robes …

The party itself was a sore point with Hermione for _another_ reason, too. A reason distinctly Sally-Anne Perks-shaped. For the Hufflepuff girl had asked Harry to go to the dance with her not once, but _three_ times. Harry politely refused on each occasion, pointing out that he was already going with Hermione. Not taking this as an acceptable reason to be rejected, Sally-Anne had then spent the entire week trying to persuade Harry to ditch Hermione and take her to the dance instead.

This came to a head at the end of the week when, during their joint Charms lesson, the two girls had a blazing row about the situation that almost led to them drawing wands on each other. It was only stopped when Professor Flitwick cast Silencing Charms on them both - which just happened to be the Charm they were trying to learn that day - and sent them to opposite ends of the room to cool off.

“Dont let her get to you,” said Harry, as he tried to calm Hermione later on. “This time tomorrow the party will be done and dusted and it’s really not worth getting detention over, is it?”

Hermione huffed crossly. “No, I suppose not, Ooh, I just hope that monster in the Chamber has eyes for _her!”_

“You don’t really mean that,” Harry told her quietly.

“Okay, maybe I don’t,” Hermione pouted. “But if she so much as _thinks_ about trying to _cut in_ when we’re dancing later, I might just set a basilisk on her myself!”

“That’s my evil Heir!” Harry teased, laughing despite the murderous look Hermione was giving him.

* * *

The Halloween feast was spectacular, the decorations more so. Huge pumpkins adorned the walls, giant cobwebs crept from the nooks and crannies and live bats fluttered high up on the enchanted ceiling.

For Harry, though, the _most_ spectacular thing of the evening was Hermione, who looked so pretty in a floaty, periwinkle blue gown that Harry found he could hardly look directly at her. This was very weird, and he told Neville and Fay all about it as they took a rest between songs.

“I think I can confidently say that I’m dancing with the prettiest girl in the room,” Harry told them as they sat down. “But, in a way, I find it hard to look at her. Why do you think that is?”

Fay looked at him fondly. “Maybe she’s too much of a good thing.”

“Maybe,” Harry mused. “I don’t want her to think I’m ignoring her though, by _not_ looking at her. I don’t want her to be cross with me again. But it’s hard. She’s almost _too_ pretty tonight, if that makes any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Neville guffawed. “How can someone be _too_ pretty? You’re either pretty, or you’re not.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Harry laughed.

“No!”

“I hate you, Neville,” Harry wailed in mock hurt.

Then the mood changed, as Fay pointed out a scene over near the pumpkin juice fountain.

“What’s Hannah Abbott so upset about?” Fay queried. “She’s crying her eyes out over there.”

They soon found out. The music was abruptly stopped and an announcement was made that all students were to return to their rooms immediately. Cue uproar and complaints, that were only silenced by several cracks from Dumbledore’s wand. Harry jumped up and made his way over to Professor McGonagall, who was holding tightly onto Hermione’s shoulder and trying to comfort Hannah at the same time.

“What’s going on?” Harry demanded as he reached them. “Why are we being sent back to our dorms?”

“There’s been another attack,” Professor McGonagall whispered. “On a student this time.”

Then Hannah burst into another round of tears and shrieked so half the Hall could hear -

“It was _her_ , it was Granger! She did it!” Hannah sobbed. “She set her monster onto Sally-Anne! I heard her say she wanted to kill her, and now she has! My best friend is _dead!_ ”

“I haven’t, Harry! I swear it!” Hermione whined in panic. “Professor McGonagall, please …”

“You will have to explain this to the Headmaster,” Professor McGonagall replied sternly.

“But Auntie Min!” Harry protested. “You cant think Hermione _killed_ someone! Surely not! She’s been with me all night.”

“Miss Perks is not dead … merely Petrified, Harry.”

Harry looked up as the lyrical voice of Dumbledore reached his ears. He turned to face him, his heart pounding again now that he knew Hermione wouldn't be executed for murdering Sally-Anne. But what if she was _expelled_ for the attack? She would probably think that was _worse_. Harry knew he had to try and do something.

“Sir, you have to believe -”

“All I _have_ to do, Harry, is to understand the events that have taken place here tonight,” Dumbledore cut across gently. “And I am rather hoping that you and Miss Granger can help to provide some insight into them. So, if you please, come with me.”

Harry looked at Hermione in a show of solidarity. She took a rattling breath, then followed the Headmaster from the Great Hall. 


	10. Close Encounters

They moved silently but swiftly along the dimly lit corridors, finally coming to a stop in front of a particularly ugly stone gargoyle. Harry knew, without doubt, where they were, even though he had never been to this part of the castle before.

This just _had_ to be where Dumbledore lived.

The Headmaster gave the password in a clear, crisp voice. “Ten-pin bowling.” Then he beckoned Harry and Hermione to enter.

Dumbledore’s office was fascinating, and under almost any other circumstance Harry would have been glad to have a look around it. There were spindly instruments that puffed and whirled away, a giant stone basin with intricate runes carved around the outside, and a large cabinet full of vials containing what Harry could only describe as _liquid clouds_.

He would have _loved_ to know what _they_ were. There was also a curious sculpture hanging on the wall, of a circle inside a triangle with a vertical spike dissecting it right down the middle. For some reason, Harry found the symbol drew his attention like a magnet.

But then something else grabbed their attention. For suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, there was a violent fizzing sound and an eruption of _fire,_ from an ornate perch over near the long window at the back of the office.

“Sir! Your bird! Quick! Have you got a glass of water or something?”

Dumbledore chuckled lightly. “Calm yourself, Harry. You are merely witnessing Fawkes on a Burning Day. It is quite unfortunately timed. He will be ever so embarrassed to have been seen at his ugliest.”

Harry screwed his face up in confusion. “Fawkes? Burning … what? _What?”_

Dumbledore smiled patiently again. “Fawkes is a Phoenix, Harry. When the time comes for them to die, they burst into flames and are reborn from the ashes. Each cycle renews the wizard they chose to become familiar with. In Fawkes’ case, that would be _me_. I might actually have it in me to go for a spritely jog tomorrow morning, now that he’s finally gotten a move on and died!”

“Sir?” Harry asked cautiously. He wasn’t sure if the Headmaster wasn’t going a little mad.

“May I go and see, Headmaster?” Hermione asked in a little voice. “Not many people can say they’ve seen a Phoenix being born, can they? And I’d so like to be able to.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore smiled, motioning for her to cross the room.

“Come on, Harry!” Hermione whispered excitedly, taking a handful of his robes and dragging him along in her wake.

When they got there, Harry looked into the pile of ash just in time to see the new born bird poke his head through the uppermost layer. He was quite as ugly as he’d been when he died, just a lot smaller.

“It’s a pity you haven’t seen him at his best,” Dumbledore told them as he came over. “He has splendid plumage, scarlet and gold for the most part. They are exceptionally _faithful_ animal familiars, can carry great loads and have a their own form of Apparitional-style travel, which can be useful if you ever find yourselves in a tight spot.”

His eyes twinkled with the light of adventure, as though remembering some great escape from Dark Wizards or something from his youth.

“But, talking of _tight spots,_ ” Dumbledore began to say. “I think we need to get to the bottom of events this evening -”

But Harry cut him off abruptly. “Sir, you have to listen to me - it _wasn’t_ Hermione. It couldn’t have been. She barely left my side all night, so I wont let you blame her for anything. If you need a scapegoat, blame _me_ instead. I don’t care. She hasn’t done anything, so you cant punish her. You just cant.”

Hermione smiled weakly at Harry and bowed her head coyly.

Surprisingly, Dumbledore looked fondly at them a moment. “As admirable as your offer is Harry, it rather circumvents the point, don’t you think? And as blatant as your care is for Miss Granger, it provides no answers for our little conundrum.”

Hermione gave a Harry a very affectionate look just then, and Harry felt his insides ignite as it fell on him. She could look at him like _that_ whenever she liked.

“What are we going to do then?” Harry asked briskly.

“First, let us sit,” Dumbledore suggested, beckoning them to take seats at his desk. He folded down into his own high-backed chair, interlocked his spindly fingers and considered them a moment. “Now what we must do, is establish the facts.”

“Hermione was with me, _all night_ ,” Harry stated bluntly. “You can write that down. I’ll sign it and everything, if you want.”

“I do not want,” Dumbledore smiled serenely. “Your word is quite sufficient for me.”

Harry reddened slightly for his brassiness. “Sorry, sir.”

“On the contrary,” Dumbledore replied. “I find your devotion to Miss Granger very pleasing. It is an admirable quality to have, Harry. But we must still construct a chain of events for this evening. Now, Miss Granger - and _only_ Miss Granger - did you, or did you not, threaten to set a _basilisk_ onto Miss Sally-Anne Perks following your disagreement this afternoon?”

“I … well, what I mean to say is … I … how do _you_ know that?” Hermione stumbled.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled at them. “I must ask you to allow an old man his secrets. Now, an answer, if you please.”

“Well, okay, I _did_ ,” Hermione confessed bashfully. “But I didn’t mean it. Not really.”

“Did you not?” Dumbledore quirked. Harry could have sworn he was fighting not to laugh.

“Not _really_ ,” Hermione replied, folding her arms stubbornly.

“But I must ask - why a basilisk? That is quite a specific form of retribution to pick.”

Harry blinked. What was Dumbledore getting at? Did he know about Hermione’s unique origins? Harry always assumed he didn’t, that it was a secret kept between a select few. But was Dumbledore in on it? Did he know about the attack on Hermione’s parents, and was this a test of her honesty?

Or did he _really_ believe she was the Heir of Slytherin and controlling a basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets?

“We had been talking about it,” Harry suddenly cut in bluntly. “After you said to my Godfather that only a few creatures could Petrify a person, we did some research into them. And a basilisk seemed the most scary.”

“And worthy of setting on a rival girl for trying to steal your date?” Dumbledore quirked, flashing a look at Harry.

Hermione blushed, but held her stare firm with Dumbledore. “Seems a fair reason to me.”

The Headmaster let out that light chuckle he’d been holding, but Harry barely heard it. He was still letting the echo of his previous words bounce around his head, and the startling realisation that was dawning with it.

A _date_ … a _proper_ date? Had that been what the dance was? And was that why Hermione had been so angry with Sally - angry enough to set a fierce magical beast on her if she'd had one? Might it also explain why Hermione had been so upset with _him_ on his birthday? He’d spent the whole evening going on about Maria Edge when Hermione wanted … him to be going on about _her_?

Did Hermione _like_ him? You know … _like him_ , like him?

It didn’t make any sort of sense that she would, so Harry dismissed the possibility at once. For she was far too good for him. She’d never like him, not like _that_. It was a preposterous idea. She’d go for someone like … like … but right then, Harry couldn’t think of anyone. Actually, he didn’t _want_ to think of anyone. It made him feel physically sick, as did the pounding memories of his atrocious behaviour to her on his birthday night. If he was honest, he’d quite like it if she _did_ want to go for him. Not that she would, so he’d best forget that notion fast. It would only lead to disappointment.

But the idea itself wouldn’t shift so easily. It had planted a root in his mind, and even if it was never given the encouragement to grow, Harry was pretty sure it wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Friends was good, he was happy with friends. But he had almost lost that, too. He was painfully keen to make amends as soon as he could.

And saving her from punishment tonight would be the first step. So he looked fiercely at Dumbledore.

“Sir, you cant _honestly_ think that Hermione opened the Chamber of Secrets and set a basilisk on Sally-Anne? Or Myrtle, while we’re at it?”

“I have as much reason to keep an open mind as I do to dismiss it out of hand,” Dumbledore replied. “The main reason in Miss Granger’s favour, naturally, is that she comes from a Muggle background. Salazar Slytherin legendarily wanted to _purge_ Hogwarts of all non-Purebloods.

“But I have very little information on Miss Granger’s lineage. There could be things in her past that do, indeed, link her to Slytherin.”

“But you told Sirius that _Voldemort_ opened the Chamber last time,” Harry protested. “There is no way that Hermione is related to _him_.”

“Only the narrow-minded would believe that the world would be so arbitrary so as to have only _one_ potential Heir. In theory, anyone who carries the blood of Slytherin in their veins could potentially access the Chamber and control the beast within.”

Harry hadn’t thought of that. But there was still the matter of Hermione coming from a different world entirely. That was the guarantee of her innocence in Harry’s mind. But then there was this issue of her possession, and he couldn’t help but think there might be a link there somewhere.

And Dumbledore tested _his_ loyalty with his very next question.

“So, I really must ask you both … is there anything you want to tell me? Anything different or suspicious that you have come across? Anything at all?”

Harry looked Dumbledore firmly in the eye and tried to look as innocent as possible. Hermione simply bit her lip anxiously next to him.

“No, Professor," Harry replied in a dull tone. “Nothing I can think of.”

* * *

Snow came to Hogwarts in mid-November. Harry was exceedingly glad of Hermione - well, even more than he normally was - for her ability to conjure her portable, waterproof fires to keep them warm. As the temperatures plummeted, they could more often than not be found huddled around a jar of her bluebell flames as they mingled between classes, or hurried to and fro from the library, or as Hermione attempted to thaw Harry out following particularly icy Quidditch training sessions.

Harry guiltily found that he liked this new development very much indeed. It meant he could stand very close to Hermione to share her warmth, and this quickly became his absolute favourite place to be. He was used to being near to her frequently throughout their day as it was, but now he was able to get an inch or two closer without it seeming odd and - every now and then - they’d bump shoulders or hands, or find their arms touching as they leant on desks to scribble notes from the blackboard.

What thrilled Harry the most was that Hermione was never the first to pull away in these situations. She didn’t tell him off for touching her either, and because she didn’t he assumed it was okay to carry on, because she was doing it too and he was letting _her_ touch _him,_ though neither mentioned what they were doing. But he was reasonably sure she was doing it on purpose, just as much as he was.

Hermione seemed to enjoy the increased contact as much as Harry, too. She could be found to blush more often, which Harry thought was a good thing, but then the cautious part of his brain reminded him that it was practically sub-zero degrees around Hogwarts now and she might simply have been tinged pink from the cold.

And that sent his self-confidence skidding right back to square one without passing Go and collecting two-hundred Sickles.

Quidditch was a bone of contention, too. Despite the weather, Oliver Wood was working the team harder than ever. Their match against Slytherin was twice postponed as the stands were frozen, but he simply saw that as an excuse for another session from his playbook.

Harry didn’t mind so much for himself, but he was concerned about Hermione. Half the school was now terrified of her, following the attack on Sally-Anne, and the other half were giving her a hard time over it. The Hufflepuffs were, naturally, the worst, seeing the attack as an act of House War against one of their own. They often laid ambushes for Hermione, meaning she had to spend half her time peering around corners with a little vanity mirror she’d borrowed from Lavender.

So she had taken to needing an escort with her at all times, which was usually just Harry. And if he was at Quidditch it meant she had to sit in the chilly stands to watch him. She was kind enough to lend him Papageno, who curled up under Harry’s Quidditch robe while he flew around. This not only helped to keep Harry warm, but also provided a sneaky way for Hermione to get even _closer_ to Harry, as her dæmon curled up against his torso in a way Hermione was too afraid to even _think_ about doing, let alone trying for real.

* * *

In the first week of December, the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match finally went ahead. It didn’t get off to a good start, as Madam Hooch came down with a bout of Owl Flu and couldn’t referee. Harry thought the worst would happen - and that Snape might step in - but the _very_ worst beat him to it.

“Never fear teams!” Professor Lockhart beamed as he donned the referee’s uniform. “I was an excellent Quidditch player myself - a Seeker - I was even asked to try out for the National Team - decided to dedicate my life to ridding the world of evil instead -”

“Ten Galleons he doesn’t get his broom off the floor!” Fred Weasley guffawed.

“That’s a dud bet, Weasley!” Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Captain taunted. “Where would _you_ get ten Galleons? Your whole house wouldn’t fetch that much!”

“Maybe he could sell that sister of his to Potter,” Draco Malfoy sneered. “I’m sure she’d fetch a Knut or two. And she might throttle Granger when they share a bed! Bonus points!”

Fred and George lunged at Malfoy, while Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell held Harry back with their brooms.

“Save it for the sky,” Wood shouted, taking a handful of Fred and George as they tried to surge past him.

“What was that about?” asked Hermione, who had just finished a final polish of Harry’s broom handle and handed it to him.

“Oh, just usual Malfoy being Malfoy,” Harry snarled. “Daddy bought lil Drakie his way onto the team with all those new brooms, so he thinks he’s something special now.”

"Well, just go out and show that Pureblood filth who's boss," Hermione told him firmly. Then - before she lost her nerve - she nipped in quick and placed a terribly shy kiss to Harry's cheek. Harry felt it tingle all the way down to his toes. Hermione blushed crazily as she darted away with her hands clamped behind her back and swung on the spot a moment. "Good luck."

Then she hurried away without another word, looking timidly at the ground. Harry touched the spot on his cheek, which felt like it was on fire, and grinned like a loony. Angelina and Katie swooned at him fondly.

“We’re gonna win today,” Harry beamed happily, still touching his face. “I just have a feeling.”

Then Fred touched Harry’s face where Hermione had kissed him. Then George did the same.

“For luck,” George grinned.

“For luck,” the girls chorused, as they and, finally, Wood followed suit.

“For _Hermione,”_ Harry whispered when he was sure no-one else could hear him.

Then the match started, but immediately it was clear that something was wrong.

Harry first noticed it as he was circling high above the game. He was hoping to catch the Snitch in record time, and maybe slam it right down Malfoy’s throat while it was still fluttering. But then he saw a commotion in the crowd … right in the Gryffindor stands. Harry flew down to investigate. And what he saw turned his heart cold.

For one of the Bludgers was trying to attack _Hermione!_

“What’s going on?” Harry demanded, flying close to George Weasley. He and Fred were standing guard over Hermione, taking turns to bat the Bludger away from her.

“Dunno!” George called back. “This Bludger’s gone crazy … and it seems to have it in for your missus!”

Harry wanted to point out that he didn’t have a ‘ _missus_ ’, but now didn’t seem the time.

“What could make it do that?” Harry shouted.

“Powerful enchantment?” Fred suggested. “Maybe all the _Huffle-Duffers_ have ganged together to avenge that Perks girl.”

Harry felt a corrosive anger rise in his chest. He was on the verge of flying to the Hufflepuff end of the stadium and setting it on fire, when the Bludger suddenly swerved cleverly past Fred's Beater Bat. It took a powerful Shield Charm from Percy Weasley to deflect it away from Hermione. It nearly hit Fay Dunbar in the face as it careered away.

“You have to get Hermione to safety, Harry!” Neville called from the stands. “Fly closer … me and Ron will help her out to you.”

Hermione looked dubious, but as the Bludger circled round for another try at her, she squeaked and grabbed onto Neville and Ron, who eased her towards Harry. He reached out with both hands and pulled her onto his Nimbus.

“Gotcha!” Harry grinned, planting Hermione practically into his lap.

“Ooh!” Hermione squealed with a giggle as she landed onto the cold broom saddle. “Hey you.”

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Harry teased. “We might actually make a Broomstress out of you yet!”

“Just fly!” Hermione laughed, adjusting herself till she was more comfortable.

“Go off, Harry!” Fred called. “George and I will take up flanking positions and keep the insane Bludger off you. The others will just have to avoid the other one as best they can.”

“We cant still be playing, surely?” Harry cried back. “I have a _passenger_!”

“I’m not entirely sure where the rulebook stands on this one,” Hermione frowned, trying to pull the fact from her knowledge of _Quidditch Through The Ages_. “But, then again, _Lockhart_ is refereeing. I’d say anything goes!”

“Great!” Harry scoffed. “Hold on to me then.”

And she did, as he shot off like a bullet ( _do you have to fly SO fast, Harry?)_ in search of the Snitch. He had to win this game quickly. In the commotion, Slytherin had scored one hundred points without reply, so Gryffindor could still win if Harry caught the little golden ball soon.

There was also the incentive of beating Malfoy to the punch.

For the debut Seeker seemed more interested in taunting Harry than trying to win the game.

“Having fun there, Scarhead?” Malfoy sneered as he flew up near to Harry and Hermione. “Someone must dislike Granger even more than me. And I didn’t think that was possible.”

All three of them watched as George Weasley shot past and swung his Beater bat firmly at the rogue Bludger, which span away at some speed.

“I mean,” Malfoy drawled on. “I dislike Mudbloods just as much as the next decent wizard. But I wouldn’t want bits of Mudbrain and Mudskull all over my brand new robes. What would my father say?”

“And what will your Daddy say when he hears you’ve been beaten by a Muggle girl?” Hermione spat.

“What?”

But before he had even finished the word, Hermione balled a fist and swung it hard in his direction. Malfoy closed his eyes like a coward and ducked away. When no strike to his head was forthcoming, though, he opened an eye cautiously, then began laughing as Hermione glowered at him.

“Nice aim, Mudblood,” Malfoy snarled. “Cant even hit me from a foot away.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes nastily at him. “Who said anything about aiming for _you_? I wouldn’t touch you with another girl’s hand! Eww!”

Then she looked at him smugly, held out her fist and slowly opened her fingers … and revealed the freshly caught Golden Snitch, sat snugly and pliant in her palm. Malfoy hadn't even noticed it hovering just above his stupid blonde head. 

“ _THE GRYFFINDOR … WELL, I’M NOT SURE WHAT SHE IS … BUT SHE CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS! ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY POINTS TO ONE HUNDRED AND TEN!”_

Lee Jordan’s commentary rang out from the megaphone as cheers erupted from the Gryffindor end of the stadium. Harry did a lap of honour (a very _low_ one) then glided over to the Gryffindor team, who hoisted Hermione onto their shoulders to toast their victory. Marcus Flint tried to complain furiously to Professor McGonagall, who was having none of it ( _she’s not even on the team!; you were happy enough when you were winning …)_ but eventually he had to give up _._

One thing that hadn’t given up, though, was the Bludger.

It came hurtling at Hermione once more, and Harry had to push her to the ground to get her out of the way.

“Step aside, I will handle this!”

The sing-song voice of Professor Lockhart sailed over the heads of the crowd. Harry looked up as the Bludger came back in for another sortie. He saw Lockhart with his wand held aloft. It was pointing loosely at the Bludger, but Hermione was right in the line of fire …

“NO! Anyone but you!” Harry cried.

Then he did something that was both instinctive and stupid. He darted in front of the Bludger and actually _punched_ it away. Or tried to. He felt his wrist snap as he connected with the heavy ball as it flew in at some speed.

“Ow!” he whimpered, hot tears rising in his eyes as he went to cradle his shattered bone.

“Harry!” Hermione called out in her horror, but Harry didn’t hear that. For Lockhart had boomed out a spell at exactly the same time. It hit Harry in the arm … and promptly dissolved all the bones in that limb.

It was later said that Harry's shriek of pain was of the like never heard at Hogwarts before. He felt like every bone, every sinew, every shred of marrow was being melted by scorching hot acid. He screeched so loudly that birds took flight from nearby trees.

“Harry! Harry! What has he _done_ to you!”

Hermione’s shriek of paralysed terror was the equal of his one of pain. But at least she was by his side, cradling his head in her lap, running her hands worriedly through his hair. There was something to be said for that in Harry’s book. As places to die, he could think of worse ones.

“Ah, yes, that _can_ happen, especially if your wand is cold. Step aside, Miss Granger, and allow me to perform the counter spell.”

Lockhart loomed over them and took aim again.

“Get away from us!” Hermione screamed. “If you raise that wand I will rip it from your fingers and shove it in your eye! Do you hear me! Professor McGonagall! Stop him.”

“Consider him stopped.”

But it wasn’t Professor McGonagall who spoke, it was _Dumbledore_. And he sounded coldly furious. Harry knew everything would be alright now.

In one movement Dumbledore lowered Lockhart’s wand, and with a lazy flick of his own exploded the Bludger as it circled nearby. Then he knelt down gently at Harry’s side. He barely felt him. He could barely feel anything. He was so tired. Maybe just a little nap …

“Harry!” Hermione whined.

“Miss Granger, let us help Harry to the Hospital Wing,” Dumbledore whispered softly.

“No! I’m not leaving him!” Hermione cried passionately.

“I did not that suggest you had to,” Dumbledore replied lightly. “But maybe you can fetch his nightclothes and toothbrush for him. I will lift the restrictions on his dorm to allow you to access it. I feel Harry will be in for a long night.”

“I ... I can do that,” Hermione sniffed, composing herself. “Can I … I mean, would it be alright if ... if I stayed with him? He might get scared in the night. If he wakes up in a panic, he wont know where he is. He’ll need me.”

“Very well. I will inform Madam Pomfrey of your residence in the Hospital Wing, too,” Dumbledore smiled. “Now, let us get Harry the help he needs, before he loses the muscle memory needed to regrow those lost bones.”

Then Harry gave to the pain, and lost consciousness in Hermione’s arms.


	11. A Trial Separation

Hours and hours later, Harry woke with a jolt in the pitch black darkness and gave a frightened little yelp. He wasn’t sure if this was from the sudden feeling of blindness - having opened his eyes to nothing but the palpable dark - or due to the searing pains in his left arm, which felt like a thousand hot, jagged knives were stabbing into the raw flesh there.

But it was with an even greater thrill of terror that he suddenly realised someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.

Harry jumped back with another shocked cry.

“Sssh, Harry. It’s just me. You’re safe.”

Hermione’s soft voice trickled into Harry’s ear like a honey-toned elixir. He felt his burst of fear drain away almost instantly.

“Hermione? What are you doing here? Actually, where _is_ here?”

“You’re in the Hospital Wing,” Hermione told him. It was so dark in the ward that Harry couldn’t even see her face. The sound was just coming from an amorphous dark mass next to his bed, one that was still softly dabbing at his boiling skin with a cool sponge. “Lockhart tried to, er, _help you_. Don’t you remember?”

Then he suddenly did. He huffed in the dark. “Yeah, I remember. That’s probably why I thought I was blind when I woke up. Who knows what sort of damage he did to me! Sorry if I startled you.”

“I wouldn’t say you startled me,” Hermione whispered. “Unless you count mindless _relief_ as a form of startling. At least my heart can start again now. I’m pretty sure it was waiting for you to wake up before it began beating again.”

Harry was glad for the gloom just then. It would mask the deep blush that had crossed his entire body at Hermione’s shy words.

“Have … have you been here all night?” Harry asked, realising abruptly that she must have been.

“Yes,” Hermione replied simply. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Harry almost didn’t know if he had words enough to express the sheer rush of deep affection he felt for Hermione in that moment. That she cared for him this much, to forego sleep to look after him. What was he supposed to say to that?

“But you need to sleep,” Harry protested lowly. “You must be exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Hermione whispered brightly, and Harry had to admit that she did sound it. “There was no way I would have been able to sleep, knowing you were here and might be hurting on your own. How _do_ you feel, actually?”

“My arm hurts like a buggar, not going to lie,” Harry winced as, right on cue, a fresh surge of cutting pains raced through his wounded limb.

“Here, drink this.”

Harry felt a cloud-soft hand cup the back of his head and ease it forward delicately. Then the cool glass rim of a beaker touched at his lips.

“What is this?” Harry asked, cautiously.

“Just something for the pain,” Hermione soothed. “Madam Pomfrey said it will help. I trust her.”

“I trust _you_ ,” Harry replied, opening his mouth and allowing the liquid to flow in. It was bitter and ice-cold, but it did distract from the fiery pin-pricks now concentrated at his elbow.

“Better?” Hermione asked, gently lowering Harry’s head back to the pillow.

“Yeah, a little,” Harry replied. “Thanks.”

Hermione put down the beaker with a little clink, then resumed the dabbing of Harry’s forehead with the sponge. Water tinkled into a basin near the bed, mixing with the sounds of rainfall outside and against the window pane, making Harry quite drowsy.

“Harry, I want to try something, but I thought I’d better ask before you let me do it.”

Hermione’s sudden and nervous announcement caught Harry off-guard. He moistened his lips involuntarily. Only his weird brain could have explained why it ordered _that_.

“W-what is it?” Harry stuttered cautiously.

“I’ve been doing some reading lately,” Hermione began.

“Wow! I never would have guessed!” Harry teased.

“Hmm, at least your sassiness is coming back!” Hermione huffed. “But, no, I meant very _specific_ reading. About Healing.”

Harry felt his interest level tauten. “Go on.”

“Well, all this business with Neville’s parents returning got me thinking,” Hermione began. “Plus all the Petrification that we’ve seen recently.”

Harry saw the shape of Hermione’s head turn. He couldn’t have been certain, but he would have confidently guessed she was looking at Sally-Anne Perks, who was still Hospital Wing-bound, in a bed somewhere further down the ward. Then Hermione turned back to him.

“Anyway, I started thinking about all the damage offensive magic can do,” Hermione continued. “We cant un-Petrify people without a complicated potion, Frank and Alice were left as mere shells after being tortured by magic. And … I got scared. I’d hate to think of _you_ in a state like that. I would lose my _own_ mind not being able to help you.

“So I started reading up about Healing. Only basic things, of course, but I came across something that might be able to help you now. If you’ll let me try.”

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“I wont hurt you, I promise,” Hermione told him hurriedly. “But I think there is something specific, between you and me, that might ease your pain.”

“What _is_ it?”

“I could be wrong, of course, so if you’d rather not … but I don’t _think_ I am …”

“Hermione! You’re babbling! Just tell me what you want to do!”

“Oh, right. Of course,” Hermione replied. “Well, it has to do with us both having Phoenix feather wand cores.”

“Go on.”

“I learned from Ollivander that a wand links to a wizard through the core of the wand and a certain aspect of the witch or wizard who wields it,” Hermione continued. “I’m probably explaining that really badly, but essentially the wand core resonates with the core of the wizard. It might be something simple - like you have a Phoenix Rising in your astrology chart maybe - but it gives you a subtle link to the animal.”

“I think I see,” Harry mused. “So, say, if you have a unicorn tail hair in your wand you’d be good with unicorns?”

“Something like that,” Hermione nodded. “Or that the magic of unicorns would work better with you. But with _us_ , this is doubly true. Because we have feather cores from the _same_ Phoenix. And, as one of the qualities of the Phoenix is the healing properties of its tears, I think there’s a way to use that to help you.”

“So … what are you saying? You want to make a Phoenix _cry_ on me?” Harry quirked. “Do you have an onion handy, or something? Or do you just intend to call it names till it balls its eyes out and looks to me for a cuddle to cheer it up!”

Hermione huffed crossly in the darkness. “Carry on, mister, and I’ll break your _other_ arm!”

Harry laughed out loud. “Do you even _have_ a Phoenix, Hermione, to conduct this little experiment?”

“No, but I’m thinking that I might be able to use the Phoenix core of _my_ wand to link to the Phoenix aspect of _you_ , then pull the negative energy away from where you are hurting, then replace it - or _heal it -_ with positive energy from _me_. Sort of like magical Reiki.”

Harry was doubtful, but intrigued. “Will that work?”

“We wont know until we try it,” Hermione sniffed haughtily. “So it’s up to you, really.”

Harry’s wrist and fingers throbbed pointedly at that moment and he gave out a pitiful little mewl. He ached so much, and Hermione was offering a radical treatment to try and ease his suffering. He decided he was willing to give anything a go.

“Okay. Let’s do it. What do you need me to do?”

“Just lay still and relax as best you can,” Hermione whispered. Harry could hear the trace of excitement in her voice. Hermione liked testing herself, trying out new things. Harry felt glad that he could indulge her in this, make her happy, even though he was deeply skeptical that it would help him at all.

Hermione shifted closer to the bed. Harry could hear her soft, rhythmic breathing near to his head. He couldn’t say why, but the breathy sounds in his ear caused tickly tingles to erupt all over his body. They were deliciously pleasant. He felt better already.

“I’m just going to pass my wand over your body,” Hermione murmured. “Lay still.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I need to assess your energy,” Hermione explained. “If I’m right, I should be able to feel different intensities in your aura, sort of like dowsing, I suppose. Because of the bond of us having brother wands, I’m hoping that I’ll be able to tell the bad areas from the good. If I can do _that_ , pulling the negative energy should be easy. It’ll be just like fishing.”

“And the pain will go away with that?”

“I hope so, but I’ve never done this before. I only know the theory.”

“Then cast away, Fisher-Witch!” Harry quipped.

So Hermione did. It was a very odd sensation at first, as though a barely noticeable warmth was passing over Harry's body. Every now and then it would rise in intensity, then drop away as Hermione moved to a new spot. Harry didn’t feel any less pain, though, until Hermione began to focus more intently on his forearm.

“Ooh!” Hermione whispered excitedly. “I think I have one! A bit of bad energy! Ready for me to pull it?”

“Ready,” Harry replied, steeling himself.

“Okay.”

Hermione took a deep breath, then angled her wand purposefully. “ _Pluck ... and flick!”_

Harry felt a light tug, as though a long hair had been tweezered away, and his arm felt a marked degree better. He wasn’t sure if it was magic, or the whispered clucking sound Hermione’s voice made as she slowly enunciated the words _pluck_ and _flick_. They caused his body to shiver delicately all over. It was as if he were being tickled on the inside.

“Was that alright?” Hermione asked cautiously.

“Yeah, I liked that,” Harry replied, still not sure quite _what_ it was that he liked.

“Can I do it again?”

“Please do!” Harry encouraged her.

So Hermione continued with renewed vigour. Harry felt a tingly burst of pleasure with each cycle of _pluck and flick._ He found it severely comforting. He was just about to tell Hermione that she’d better stop before he exploded with delight, when suddenly the door to the Hospital Wing was flung open harshly.

The sudden shock of light from the corridor outside startled Harry, searing his eyes a moment. Hermione, who was shielded by the large curtain that surrounded one half of Harry’s bed, stopped her spell casting at once and turned her head to look at the shadowy shapes of the newcomers silhouetted against the fabric.

There were three figures in total, two of them upright and the third horizontal, as though being carried by the other two. Harry felt his heart stop, and his fears were confirmed a moment later. Madam Pomfrey, disturbed by the abrupt disruption of her silent ward, left her office and hurried through the twilight, tying a dressing gown as she went.

“Headmaster! Professor Snape!” Madam Pomfrey gasped. “What has happened?”

“There has been another attack,” Dumbledore replied gravely. “Professor Lockhart was found in this way by a group of first-years. Young Colin Creevey was posing for a photograph with members of the so-called _Harry Potter Fanclub_. We believe they wanted to send him a Get Well card. Gilderoy, naturally, insisted he send Harry a personal, signed card himself to cheer him up. He set up the camera, and a huge mirror, and when he looked through … he was Petrified by what he saw.”

“But _what_ did the Petrifying, Headmaster?” asked Madam Pomfrey.

“That is the ultimate question, Poppy,” Dumbledore mused grimly.

“The answer to which I _insist_ we must now extract from Miss Granger,” Snape sneered lowly. “Headmaster, I have a batch of Veritaserum in my stores. One drop should suffice for a confession. I could fetch her to you right now …”

“No, Severus,” Dumbledore cut across in a firm tone. “I will not consent to a student being potioned in such a manner. Even if Miss Granger _is_ guilty, I would rather have her tell me of her own free volition.”

“Then allow me to bring her to you for interrogation. Gryffindor Tower is close, I would be less than ten minutes.”

“I need you to assess Professor Lockhart right now,” Dumbledore insisted.

Then Harry noticed the Headmaster shift his position on the other side of the curtain, almost as if to block the shape of Hermione from Snape’s line of sight. Hermione saw it too, and dived for cover under Harry’s bed.

“Very well,” Snape conceded. “But if you find Miss Granger does not have an adequate excuse or alibi for tonight …”

“Then I shall have no option but to _suspend_ her,”Dumbledore completed solemnly.

Hermione gave a muffled squeak that Harry tried to hide with an exaggerated groan. It seemed to work, as no-one moved to investigate.

“Headmaster - I must insist on full expulsion!” Snape protested angrily. “She has attacked a teacher! Or at least, this _approximation_ of one.”

“We have no evidence of the kind,” Dumbledore argued. “Only a set of circumstances that happen to fit the facts.”

Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards the Headmaster just then, for defending Hermione when he had just as much cause to suspect her.

“No evidence of what?” Snape asked dryly. “That Lockhart should be called a _Professor,_ or that Granger attacked him?”

“Severus, please,” Dumbledore admonished lightly. “I would expect such a cutting quip from one of the students, not a Head of House or faculty.”

“My apologies, Dumbledore,” Snape retracted. “But I am merely concerned for all inhabitants of this castle. Something, or _someone_ , is putting them in danger. And Miss Granger is our only credible suspect.”

"As touching as your anxiety for all our well-beings is, Severus, I must disagree with your definition of _credible_. We have no concrete proof that Hermione Granger is at all involved in this, in any reasonable way. If I choose to suspend her, it will merely be an aid to proving that. It will be for her own good, to take her away from the glare of suspicion. Then we can conduct a thorough investigation to find the truth, without looking over our shoulders as half the castle tries to take revenge on an innocent girl, for crimes she has not committed."

Harry felt his protest lodge in his throat. He couldn’t shake the impression that Dumbledore was making this speech as much for himself and Hermione as Professor Snape, to offset their inevitable joint complaints later.

“ _May_ not have committed,” Snape grumbled in reply. “Very well. I shall leave this in your hands, Dumbledore. However, the Board of Governors will need to be informed … and a replacement senior Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher recruited. I could always …”

“I already have a candidate in mind,” Dumbledore replied swiftly.

“If you are going to suggest _Sirius Black_ again -”

“No, no, I like Sirius too much for that. If the curse of the job did anything to _him_ I rather think Mister Potter would set me on fire as I slept.”

“Who then, if I may ask?”

“A very qualified replacement, if I do say so myself,” Dumbledore quipped. “It has been many years since _I_ last took the Professor’s chair in a classroom … but I’m sure it will all come flooding back to me!”

* * *

Harry was asleep when it happened.

Dumbledore thought it would be better this way, easier all round. Secretly, Hermione agreed, but she was simply distraught at not being able to say a proper goodbye to sleeping Harry. Dumbledore even consented to a Sleeping Draught being used on the other girls of Dorm Seven, so that they could be quietly moved to other beds for the night.

So in the end, as she packed to leave, it was just Hermione, Pap and Lyra, who had come to collect them from Hogwarts in the middle of the night.

“You believe I’m innocent, don’t you?” Hermione sniffed to Lyra. “I haven’t done these things they’re saying. Honest.”

“Of course I believe you,” Lyra replied staunchly. “Or even if you _have_ , you haven’t been in control of your actions. This isn’t your fault, sweetheart.”

Hermione smiled weakly, wiping her eyes with Harry’s scarlet and gold Gryffindor scarf as she folded it into her little travel bag. She hoped he wouldn’t mind her borrowing it. There was no more Quidditch until next term, so Harry had no reason to be silly and spend time outdoors, getting himself all cold. He could always cast some emerald fire if he did. Hermione would have to make sure to leave him one of her jars before she went, so he could carry her flame.

Maybe he could use the fire on the monster if he ever came across it.

“Oh, Pap!” Hermione cried suddenly, scooping the cat into her arms. “I cant do it! I can’t leave Harry! What if something happens to him while I’m gone? What if the monster gets him?”

“Dont think like that!” Lyra yelped, hurrying over and drawing Hermione into a crushing hug. “He’ll be fine.”

“You d-don’t know t-that!” Hermione sobbed. “Oh, Lyra! He’s in so much danger! They all are. What if the monster wants to get him and I’m not here to help?”

“The teachers will make sure Harry’s alright,” Lyra insisted, though she didn’t sound certain.

“I’ll stay,” Papageno whispered, though it was barely audible.

“They haven’t done a good job so far!” Hermione shrieked, not seeming to hear anything but her rampaging panic. “Not with Myrtle or Sally or Professor Lockhart! What makes it any more likely they’ll be able to protect _Harry_!”

“I’ll stay, watch over him.”

“They’ll be more vigilant now,” Lyra asserted. “They’ll have to be, after a teacher was attacked.”

Hermione shook her head. “Not good enough. Not good enough _at all!_ I can’t go, Lyra. I just _can’t!_ ”

“ _I’ll_ stay,” Pap tried again, a little louder this time. Still nothing.

“You have to, Hermione,” Lyra reminded her sadly. “They’ve suspended you.”

“But I cant … _they_ cant … cant you -”

“ _I will stay with Harry!”_ Papageno shouted. Finally, he had made himself heard. Hermione and Lyra turned in their silence to look at him. “I’ll stay. I can keep an eye on him, make sure he’s safe. You go ... and I’ll stay here with Harry … if he’ll have me.”

Hermione blinked at her dæmon, weighing up the offer, knowing his last words were her own _rephrased_ from the other purpose in _her_ mind. It wasn’t really an offer, of course. They were _one_ , Hermione and her Pap … they had already decided what they were going to do, even if they hadn’t voiced it aloud yet.

“You can stay with Harry,” Hermione stated dully. “Are you sure?”

“You know I am.”

“And you’ll watch over him?”

“Day and night, if he’ll let me.”

“And keep him safe?”

Papageno rose up as big as he could get. “Even if it means scratching out the eyes of that basilisk myself!”

“Oh _Pap!”_ Hermione cried, hugging her dæmon as tight as she could manage. “My heart! My love! I love you! You will be careful, wont you?”

“Harry will look after me, and I’ll look after him,” Papageno reassured her.

“I know you will!” Hermione cooed into his fur. “Oh, Pap …”

“I know, I know,” he replied softly, butting his squashed head against Hermione’s chin affectionately. “It’ll be okay. And then, at Christmas, we’ll have a big reunion and everything will be well!”

“Yes! We definitely will!” Hermione nodded vigorously. “Oh. Oh, my. Well, I suppose I’d better write Harry a note, let him know you’re staying with him. I hope he wont mind …”

“Of course he wont,” Papageno replied confidently. “Just try not to get _too_ jealous if I make him give me lots of hugs and cuddles! It gets very cold up here during December, you know!”

“Oi! Don’t tease!” Hermione laughed gently, playfully swatting at her dæmon. “Now, where’s my quill? We don’t have much time.”

* * *

 ** **A/N:**** So not a ton happens in this chapter, and the events of the next chapter were supposed to happen here too, but the healing scene in the first section ran away with me and I’m deliberately trying to keep the chapters short and to a 3-event structure (e.g. the healing - the Petrification - Hermione’s suspension). So apologies if it feels disjointed or too brief. It does mean that C12 shouldn’t be long in the posting though. 


	12. Ghostwriting

Harry was allowed to leave the Hospital Wing just after lunchtime the next day. He meekly submitted to a final examination of his arm, answering robotically to the questions that Madam Pomfrey asked of him. His injury was fine now, and Harry couldn’t help but think that Madam Pomfrey was focusing on the wrong ailment in his body. For though his arm had healed, he had a searing pain in his chest that he couldn’t even process yet, let alone work out how to shift.

For Harry had been told, almost as soon as he woke, that Hermione was gone. Suspended, pending Enquiry. Harry seethed as he read the phrase.

Hermione had told him her own words, which soothed the blow somewhat, in a brief letter that she had attached to Papageno’s collar. Harry took it from Hermione’s dæmon _,_ as he woke to find the fluffy cat curled up with him under the blankets of his hospital bed. Hermione told him she agreed with the action, that Dumbledore had packaged it as more of an extended Christmas holiday rather than a suspension, and begged Harry not to be angry with anyone over it.

So Harry was determined not to be. But that resolve lasted all of five minutes. For no sooner had he returned to his dorm than he was surrounded by the other boys, all clamouring for answers.

“Is it true?!” Dean demanded. “They’re saying all round the school that Dumbledore has _suspended Hermione_?”

“And that she’s gone already,” Seamus added.

“ _And_ that she killed Lockhart, which we all hope is true,” Ron chipped in, chancing a grin.

Neville came closest to Harry. “Is that Hermione’s cat?”

And then, quite unknowingly, he reached out a hand …

“Don’t _TOUCH_ him! Get away!”

Harry yelled viciously at his friend, pulling Papageno clear as the cat hissed and spat in Harry’s arms. The human-dæmon taboo had never been clearer or more sharply-focused in Harry’s mind. This was _Hermione_ … her very _soul_ … how _dare_ they try to _touch her_ like that? Who did they think they were?

“Don’t any of you touch him! Ever! You so much as come within a foot of him and I’ll rip your stinking hands off, got it?”

“Whoa, Harry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Neville shrieked in terror, jumping back as if burnt by Harry’s words. “I didn’t mean …”

“I know, I know,” Harry huffed slowly, closing his eyes and breathing heavily, trying to bring his temper under control. He drove his hand protectively into Papageno’s soft fur. “Just don’t …. don’t ever … please.”

“Okay, we wont,” Ron promised. “Come away, Neville.”

But Neville didn’t. He held his ground and spoke to Harry in a tiny whisper. “Harry … is this about … _you-know-what_?”

Harry nodded imperceptibly. Neville understood at once, and finally moved away.

“You’ll leave the cat alone, boys,” Neville warned. “Crookshanks has an aversion to touch. His last owners mistreated him, so we aren’t to put our hands on him. Everyone clear?”

“Clear,” Ron and Dean chorused.

“We never knew, Harry,” Seamus apologised. “Hermione never said.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry began, smiling a thanks at Neville for the cover story. “Hermione didn’t want anyone to know. Some people might, you know, think that Pap - sorry, _Crookshanks_ \- wants to be petted to make up for his mistreatment. But it’s totally the opposite for the poor little guy. I’m … sorry. For snapping. I didn’t mean to take it out on you all.”

“It’s fine, mate,” Ron offered, simply. “Dumbledore’s just suspended your _girlfriend_. Sent her home before _Christmas_. Cold-hearted old coot. Now all you’ve got left is her familiar. If it was me, I’d be _livid_. I’d have torn Dumbledore’s office down by now. If I knew where it was.”

Harry felt the kindest sentiment towards Ron Weasley he ever had. He smiled weakly at him. “Thanks, Ron. But Hermione isn’t my girlfriend. You all know that.”

“No, Harry,” Ron disagreed with a wide grin. “The only person who _doesn’t_ know she’s your girlfriend is _you._ ”

“Oh, and maybe _Hermione_ ,” Neville added with a teasing smirk.

“Yeah,” Seamus laughed. “Honestly, you two are at the same time the brightest and stupidest people here. You are, literally, the worst kept secret at Hogwarts.”

“And the people most oblivious to the secret are the pair of _you_ ,” Neville piped up thoughtfully. “That’s the weirdest part.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, blushing but grinning broadly at the same time.

“Just look up _boyfriend and girlfriend_ in the nearest dictionary,” Dean advised sagely. “Then try to work out how many traits you and Hermione _don’t_ share of the definition.”

“He wont have to go that far,” Ron chuckled. “He’ll be able to work it out from the picture.”

“Picture? What picture?” Harry asked.

“The one of you and Hermione,” Ron laughed. “Under the heading - _Boyfriend and Girlfriend - A Graphic Representation!”_

“Be quiet, you lot!” Harry tried in vain to protest, even though he found he had little interest in correcting their mis-assumption.

The other boys fell about laughing, but Harry turned away to look out of the window and smooth Papageno, his mood a lot lighter than it had been ten minutes ago. He tried to be gentle, hoping - wherever she was - that Hermione could feel just how much he was missing her already.

* * *

It was much later that day before Harry was able to have a proper chat with Neville. He, of course, knew far more about what was going on, due to the explanations his parents had given for the long absence from his life. But he was still unsure about much of it, and keen to understand whatever Harry could explain.

“So that’s Hermione’s - how do you say it - _demon_?” Neville asked, cautiously.

He and Harry were stood on the Covered Bridge, which crossed one of the inlet waterways that fed the Great Lake. They were watching Hagrid down below, as he sawed some giant firs to turn into Christmas trees for the Great Hall. Papageno was sat nearby on the handrail, preening himself as the snow began to fall softly again.

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed absently. He was looking to Papageno for guidance on what he could disclose, and since the bandy-legged ball of orange fur didn’t complain, Harry assumed he was on safe ground to confide in Neville.

“And what _is_ he, exactly?”

“I don’t fully understand it myself,” Harry confessed. “He sort of … _is_ Hermione. Or an aspect of her soul. They are one being, as strange as that is to wrap your head around. It was odd for me, too, at first, but now I barely see them as separate entities. I look at her dæmon, but all I see is Hermione.”

“If she was a cat,” Neville smirked.

“If she was a cat,” Harry echoed with a grin.

Neville chuckled heartily, causing Harry to cast a half-curious, half-suspicious eye at him. “Sorry, Harry. I’m just trying to picture Hermione with a big, bushy tail and whiskers! Like a Polyjuice experiment gone wrong, or something! But his name isn’t even _Crookshanks_ , is it? I heard you call him something else. _Pap_ , wasn’t it?”

Harry nodded. “Papageno. That’s his actual name.”

“And he can talk?”

“Yeah, but you mustn’t, Nev,” Harry urged. “It’s too risky for anyone but me to speak to him. No-one can know. If Hermione’s secret gets out … I don’t know what they’d do to her. They’d cart her off and do all sorts of tests and experiments on her. She’s left half her _soul_ with me, Nev … I have to keep that secret safe.”

“And I’ll help you do that,” Neville returned stoutly. “I can keep secrets.”

“Good. Because I have more. And, without Hermione around, I really need someone to share them with. Someone I can rely on … someone I can trust. And I’m hoping you might fancy the job, Nev.”

Neville puffed out his chest proudly. “I can be all those things, Harry. I know I’m no replacement for Hermione, but I’d like to help if I can.”

“These are important things, scary too,” Harry warned. “You have to be sure.”

“I am. And am I right in thinking that this has to do with Hermione’s _other world_.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Hermione is a good thing to come from there, Nev. The best, actually. But there are other things that aren’t so good. Bad things, dangerous things. Dangerous _people_.”

“And might these people be responsible for Petrifying Hogwarts?” Neville queried.

“I think they must be,” Harry confirmed. “I don’t know how they’re doing it, but I’m sure they are the real villains. And, if they are, _you_ might be in danger, too.”

“Me? Why?” Neville asked, the colour draining from his cheeks. “Who is it?”

“Someone who wanted to kill us _both_ when we were babies,” Harry disclosed in a hushed voice. “Lord Voldemort.”

Neville blinked several times. “But, Harry - V-V … _You-Know-Who …_ he was killed by Dumbledore. Everyone knows that.”

Harry turned heavy eyes to his friend. “No, Neville. The spirit of Lord Voldemort endured. Dumbledore and my Godfather fought him, drove him through a special archway at the Ministry of Magic. They called it the Veil of Death, because nobody every returned once they passed through.

“But it didn’t kill anyone, Neville, it never did. It didn’t kill Voldemort. It just sent him through a portal into _another world._ ”

Neville gasped. “The world _Hermione_ comes from!”

Harry nodded again. “The same. Voldemort was beaten but he survived, Nev. In that other world.”

“And now he’s returned?”

“In some form, yes, I just don’t know how,” Harry confirmed. “And he’s the one opening the Chamber of Secrets, not Hermione.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“She was with me _all night_ when Lockhart was attacked,” Harry began passionately. “Even if it could be argued that she slipped out to attack Sally-Anne on Halloween, she didn’t leave my side when I was _de-boned_. So it cant have been her.”

“But _something_ attacked Lockhart,” Neville mused. “Or someone. If not Hermione, then who?”

“I have to think Lockhart is the key to this,” Harry fumed. “I couldn’t say how I know that, I just do. All this business with those diaries, then Hermione breaks the enchantment he put on her and the attacks began. I have to think it’s all connected.”

“Well, if Lockhart is responsible, you have to know what he knows,” Neville pointed out. “The problem is, he’s Petrified out of his pea-brain, just like Sally and Moaning Myrtle.”

“Maybe I should speak to him anyway,” Harry quirked. “I’ll probably have a more sensible conversation with him if he isn’t able to talk back!”

Neville suddenly looked at Harry excitedly. “Harry! Maybe that’s it!”

“That’s what?”

“The way to know Lockhart’s game!” Neville exclaimed. “He has been stealing dreams, hasn’t he? But he also _talked back_ in order to possess Hermione. All you have to do is find out how he was doing it!”

“But how am I going to do that?” Harry argued. “He’s in no state for me to curse a confession out of him.”

“True, but he’s also in no state to stop you turning his office over for clues,” Neville pointed out. “If he has been writing back to other girls, there must be a sort of _Master Diary_ in there somewhere. If you want answers, that would be a good place to start looking.”

* * *

But getting into Lockhart’s personal chambers wasn’t as easy as Harry had hoped.

It was ironic, Harry considered, one day in early December, that up until a week ago he could have looked around Lockhart’s room with the greatest of ease. All he would have had to do would be to volunteer to help with his fan mail signing, dropped a quill and scoured the room for whatever he wanted. It would have been like taking a liquorice wand from a baby … a baby in lilac robes who liked to wear his hat at a jaunty angle on his empty, stupid head.

But things were a lot different now, for Albus Dumbledore was the temporary Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher … and Harry always got the impression that Dumbledore could see what you were up to even if he wasn’t in the same room.

Though the plan hatched with Neville was now firmly set in his mind. Harry was just waiting for the right chance to pop up to execute it. He busied himself trying to get used to Papageno being around him all the time, almost as if he’d been loaned to Harry as _his own_ dæmon. It was a very strange way of being.

“So … do you need to eat?” Harry asked one evening. “Should I get you some kitten treats , or swipe you some chicken from the kitchens, or something?

Harry was sat alone with Papageno in his dorm to do his homework that night. He was sick and tired of the constant questions from the other Gryffindors about Hermione and where she was. He didn’t mind being asked … he just wished someone could give _him_ the answers, as he’d really like to know them himself. The not knowing hurt enough to not want to think about it at all.

“No. As long as Hermione eats, I’m fine,” Papageno replied. “But thank you for asking.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded. “So, do you feel everything she feels and know everything she knows? Like, for example, if I say something to you, will _she_ hear it?”

“No, it doesn’t work quite like that,” Papageno explained. “But she’ll know how I’m feeling or if anything happens to me. Or to _you_ , because of how I react to it.”

“So … do you know how she’s feeling now?” Harry asked cautiously.

“Worried … about us,” Papageno replied. “But that’s easy, because _I’m_ worried, too. But she’s also sad.”

“Sad?” Harry asked in immediate concern. “Why? What’s happened?”

“She’s been taken away from you,” Papageno returned simply. “So, now, she misses you. You’re far away and … that makes her sad.”

Harry felt a surge of heady warmth pass through his chest.

“I’m sad, too,” Harry replied dully, massaging his aching sternum. “For, you know, the same reason. Are you able to make her know that?”

If cats were able to smile, Harry thought just then, Papageno’s expression might be how it looked.

“She _already_ knows,” Papageno replied eventually. “She doesn’t need me to tell her anything. And the knowing makes her _happy,_ though we don’t completely understand why. She’s an up and down, complex sort of girl, is Hermione!”

Harry laughed in agreement. “Thank you, Pap, for staying with me. I’m glad you did.”

“As am I,” Papageno returned. “So, you still intend to try and search Professor Lockhart’s office. What are you hoping to find?”

“The method he used to control Hermione,” Harry seethed bitterly. “He got into her head, and if there’s even the tiniest possibility that it is connected to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets I need to know about it. Tell me, Pap, what was it like for you, when Hermione was possessed?”

Papageno sat on his hind legs to think about it. “I just felt, sort of, drowsy at first. Then it began to get stronger and I have very little memory of where I was or what I did. I’m always aware of my connection to Hermione, but back then it started to feel thin and stretched. Then it felt like I was being pushed away. It became unpleasant to be around her, as though her very energy had turned to acid.”

“So you stayed away?” Harry nodded as he processed the story. “And Hermione didn’t notice a thing?”

“No,” Papageno confirmed. “That’s why we are so convinced that Tom Riddle is behind it. Few others know of our world, of our nature. And he has lived there for over a decade.”

“And been able to study it for that entire time!”

“Not just that, but to learn how to manipulate it, perhaps in ways people in our world have never considered,” Papageno pointed out. “Don’t forget, the magic used here is very different to the type _our_ witches use. Tom Riddle may have been able to try things they haven’t even _thought_ about.”

“That would make him _very_ dangerous,” Harry considered darkly.

“Very,” Papageno agreed. “And he’s cunning and unpredictable enough as it is.”

Harry shifted awkwardly on his four-poster. He turned his eyes down to the bed. He didn’t think he could look Papageno in the face to say what was on his mind.

“I … I’m sorry, Pap, for getting you into this,” Harry murmured guiltily. “If it wasn’t for _me,_ you wouldn’t be in this trouble. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even be _in_ this world!”

Papageno padded across the quilt and gently brushed his head against Harry’s chin, urging him to raise his head back up. Then he looked him dead in the eyes.

“No, you’re quite right. Without you _,_ we _wouldn’t_ be here. We’d be sat quietly in Oxford, reading our books and getting made fun of by our classmates, not knowing that we could be a part of this great adventure with you. But we wouldn’t change it, Harry, not a bit of it. We’ve never regretted coming to find you, not even for a second. We spent all our life in that world, in our wonderful Oxford.

“But it wasn’t until we came here that we _really_ started to live. What I’m trying to say is … it is only since we met _you_ , Harry Potter, that Hermione and I truly became _alive_.”

Harry felt tears rise behind his eyes, and he didn’t know why. He wanted to say something, not that he knew what it was. In any case, the words got choked in his throat somewhere. Papageno turned modestly and returned to the end of the bed, allowing Harry to quickly wipe at his face with his sleeve. Harry’s heart felt full, that was the only way he could describe it. It was a warm sort of full that made him smile in ways he didn’t know he could before.

And he had never felt more determined to clear Hermione’s name. How could a girl that could make him feel like _this_ ever have it in her bring harm to anyone?

Harry had to help her, he just had to … whatever it took.

* * *

And then, quite unexpectedly, Harry got his chance.

It was a full fortnight since Hermione’s suspension. Harry had just had his second Defence Against the Dark Arts class with Dumbledore as Professor, and he was sure he’d learned more in those two hours than he had in the last year-and-a-half of classes. At this rate, Defence was on course to overtake Charms as Harry’s favourite class on his timetable.

As the bell went, the class began to pack up. Harry was sat with Neville and Ron, who Harry was slowly thawing towards. Since being humiliated over his awful wand and terrible academic performance, Ron had finally learned some humility. He kept his head down and worked as best he could. He would never be more than an average wizard, that much was obvious, but he had accepted that too and was much more easy-going about it as a result.

That evening the boys of the Gryffindor Top Dorm were very excited. Professor Flitwick’s extra-curricular Duelling Club would be accepting Second-Years in the new term, and they were all determined to sign up before going home for the Christmas holidays. They would only be able to learn very basic Disarming and Shield Charms, but they had somehow managed to convince themselves that these spells alone would turn them into the baddest teenage Hit Wizards Hogwarts had ever seen.

And they couldn’t wait to prove this to the Slytherins at the earliest opportunity.

But Harry had another concern on his mind … Hermione. She wasn’t here and wouldn’t be able to put her name down for the class. And Harry was pretty sure she would have, had she been able to. So he decided to petition Dumbledore on her behalf.

As the class filed out, Harry hung back next to Dumbledore’s desk. The Headmaster was carefully folding a cloth around a Foe-Glass, which he had been explaining the use of during the lesson.

“Ah, Harry. What did you think of the class?”

“Excellent, Professor,” Harry beamed. “You’re the best Defence teacher we’ve had. Any chance you might keep the post full-time!”

“I am flattered,” Dumbledore chuckled. “But I have already put out a job advert for next year.”

“Any luck yet?”

“One candidate looks promising,” Dumbledore mused. “Once the next full-moon passes, I will have to go and have a formal interview with him.”

“Full-moon?” Harry queried. “Is he into astronomy, then?”

“You could say that,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes flashing brightly. “The cycle of the moon is _very_ important in his life. But, come now Harry, I get the feeling you haven’t loitered around to discuss my Professor recruitment strategy.”

“Um … no, Sir,” Harry replied meekly. “I’ve actually come to talk to you about … about Hermione.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily, then sat slowly with deliberate movements. He fixed his gaze on Harry who felt, as always, that he was being x-rayed by the Headmaster.

“I cannot claim to be surprised,” Dumbledore began lightly. “In all honesty, I expected this interrogation before now. You have shown admirable restraint, Harry, I must say. You have impressed me.”

“Interrogation?” Harry asked, scrunching his brow in his confusion.

“You have come to demand to know why I suspended Miss Granger, have you not?”

“Oh!” Harry cried. “No, Sir. This isn’t about _that_. Hermione explained why you did it. And she accepts it … so I do, too.”

Dumbledore smiled at that. It was a fond sort of curl that crossed his lips. Harry wasn’t sure he knew how to read it.

“Then what _can_ I do for you?” Dumbledore asked slowly.

“Well, here’s the thing,” Harry started, taking a seat without being invited. He wrung his hands in his lap as he spoke again, his words tumbling out very quickly while his courage was up. “There’s a Duelling Club, see, that we can join in the New Year. Us Second-Years, I mean. Professor Flitwick runs it.”

“I know the one,” Dumbledore replied benignly.

“Yeah, that one,” Harry nodded keenly. “Only, Hermione isn’t here, see, so she wont know about it. And I know she’d want to sign up if she knew, only she doesn’t, and she’ll be ever so upset to be missing out, when she comes back. Which she will … won’t she, Sir?”

“She will,” Dumbledore confirmed. Harry breathed out a lungful of relief. “Miss Granger is only suspended until the new term. She will return to the castle then, though if no progress is made into the investigation regarding the Petrifications, she may have to return under certain _restrictions_.”

“Okay,” Harry frowned. “That’s fair. And how _is_ the investigation going?”

Dumbledore considered Harry a long few seconds. Harry felt like he was being assessed by the Headmaster.

Then, in a moment that Harry felt arrive as much as he saw, Dumbledore appeared to make a fundamental decision.

“Well, we still have not located the Chamber of Secrets,” Dumbledore mused. “But there have been no further attacks. It is six of one and half-a-dozen of the other at this point.”

“So Hermione _could_ still be innocent?” Harry chanced.

“As much as she may be guilty,” Dumbledore agreed.

“So, would she be allowed to join the Duelling Club?” Harry asked. “Would her restrictions stretch to _that_? I mean, if she _is_ innocent - which I just know she is - shouldn’t she be allowed to learn how to defend herself like everyone else? In case the monster attacks her?”

Dumbledore smiled. “I am not certain that a Shield Charm would be adequate protection from _this_ monster.”

“Maybe not. But there are _other_ monsters in the world, aren’t there, Sir? Isn’t it right that she should be able to defend herself from _them?_ ”

For a moment, Harry swore he saw Dumbledore’s eyes flicker to the many Lockhart’s depicted in moving portraits around the room. But it was so swift Harry might have imagined it.

“You make a very impassioned and persuasive case,” Dumbledore considered. “And if you are wrong, and Miss Granger _is_ responsible for these attacks? What then?”

“I’ll turn her in … for her own good,” Harry replied plainly. “And keep watch over her so she cant hurt anyone else. But she _isn’t_ guilty, so this is a redundant scenario.”

Dumbledore smiled ruefully, then spoke practically to himself. “Oh, to be young … and feel love's keen sting. Very well, Harry. I will permit you to enrol Miss Granger for the Duelling Club. But I have something to ask of you in return.”

“I thought you might,” Harry smirked. “What is it?”

“Please place covers over all these images of Professor Lockhart, before you head to see Professor Flitwick,” Dumbledore returned pleasantly. “If I am to be teaching here for the next six months, I would rather do so without being given haircare advice every few minutes.”

“I can do that!” Harry laughed. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Very well, very well,” Dumbledore replied. He stood up and conjured a number of large black cloths from the end of his wand. “You can perform a basic Sticking Charm, I understand. That should suffice to keep these covers in place.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Dumbledore moved to the door. Then he turned to Harry, his eyes flashing with hidden meaning. “Oh, and Harry, I understand Gilderoy was advising you privately on how to manage your celebrity persona. I imagine you are just _desolate_ without his continued tuition. So I have left his private chambers unlocked, should you wish to study his appearance diary … maybe you can learn how he _does it_.”

Harry blinked in shocked understanding. Dumbledore said no more, closing the door quietly as he left.

Harry, unable to believe his luck - or Dumbledore’s blatant, if only inferred, encouragement - rushed around the room, quickly throwing the cloths over the many portraits of Lockhart. Harry had to fight hard to resist the urge to draw little moustaches on the pictures, or to simply torch them with his wand. But he had to stay focused, get this task done, then claim the prize at the end of it.

And, very soon, he had the prize in his hands.

Truth be told, Harry felt rather sick at what he was holding. Gilderoy Lockhart’s personal filofax, an organiser, the _Master Diary_ Harry was looking for. It had innumerable pages, each carrying a name at the top. One for each of Lockhart’s dedicated fans. The last few hundred pages were headed by the name of each and every girl who currently attended Hogwarts. Their hopes and dreams, their most intimate secrets, which they had innocently recorded in their dream diaries, were neatly listed as bullet points on each page.

“That utter _creep_!” Harry hissed angrily, reading about how Penelope Clearwater was just desperate to be a Mum one day, having lost hers at a young age. “I’m going to burn this right now!”

“No, don’t! It could be useful!”

Harry started and looked down. “Pap! How did you get in here?”

“You didn’t come back after your class, so I was worried and came to find you,” Papageno explained, leaping up onto the desk. “Is that it then? His diary?”

“Yep,” Harry seethed. “All the secrets of all the girls here, ripe for him to manipulate. I’ve half a mind to march right up to the Hospital Wing and smother him as he sleeps.”

Papageno moved to put his paws over the corners of the diary. “So _this_ is what he used to control Hermione? Can you flick to our page?”

Harry swallowed a moment and hesitated. “I … I don’t know if I should. Her dreams and secrets will be on there. I’m sure she doesn’t want me to know about _them.”_

“Oh, you are quite wrong about _that_ ,” Papageno returned evenly. “She would actually _love_ for you to know her secrets, but she’s too much of a coward to tell you that yet.”

“But _you_ just did.”

“I know, but I’m the brave part of Hermione.”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry argued fairly. “I’ve always thought of Hermione as pretty brave. All that stuff with the Philosopher’s Stone last year? That was all her.”

“We know,” Papageno quipped. “But _that’s_ not the sort of thing that scares her.”

“Then what does?”

“ _You_ , silly,” Papageno replied. “You terrify her in so many ways, and they are all the good sort of terror.”

“There’s a _good sort of terror_?” Harry asked faintly. The room felt very hot all of a sudden.

“Of course there is,” Papageno told him simply. “You should know that … because you feel it too. I can tell.”

Harry felt his mouth fall open, but Papageno was on a mission now.

“Can you turn the pages, please? I don’t think I can manage it.”

“Are you sure?” Harry tested.

“Yes. If you like, I’ll look first, tell you what’s there,” Papageno offered.

“Okay, that sounds like a good idea,” Harry replied.

He flicked through the pages. It was with a churned sense of disgust that he noticed the girls were not organised alphabetically … but by _age_. Some had stars next to their names … Harry didn’t think he wanted to know what that meant …

Then he got to the page with Hermione’s name on it. He pinched his eyes closed, battling hard against the temptation to peek.

But then Pap squeaked, very much like his human did. “It’s blank!”

Harry opened his eyes. Papageno was right … Hermione’s page was bare. Her name had a star next to it, but there was nothing else.

“I don’t get it,” Harry huffed. “There’s nothing here.”

“But she _definitely_ wrote in the diary,” Papageno insisted. “I saw her do it!”

“Then there must be something else, something we’re missing.”

Harry began looking around the desk. Papageno did, too, and he found something interesting.

“His quill?” Harry queried, lifting up the extravagant peacock's feather.

“Harry … look at those markings on the nib. Aren’t they -”

“Runes. Yes, but I don’t understand …”

“Hermione says Runes written together like that make _spells_ ,” Papageno went on. “Could that quill be enchanted in some way?”

“It’s possible,” Harry thought aloud.

“Can you read the spell? Hermione was always impressed by how good you are with Runes.”

Harry felt his cheeks redden. He lifted up the quill and examined the Runes. He furrowed his brow.

“There’s a part here about changing reality,” Harry divined. “These first two, see? They are a spell to encourage a new outlook on things. And these three at the back … they are to invoke commitment. It’s almost as if …”

“What?”

“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say Lockhart is using this quill to encourage _Blind Devotion._ Almost as though anything it writes will be believed by the reader, even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary.”

Papageno looked at Harry. Harry looked at the cat dæmon.

And the same thought came to them at the same time.

“His _books_!” Papageno whispered.

“It has to be!” Harry cried. “Everyone knows he’s a fraud, even Snape. But they still believe he did what his books say he did. Even _Hermione_ does. I see it now. He’s hoodwinked everyone who has ever read a word of his rubbish!”

“How, Harry? That sounds like _very_ Dark Magic.”

“Oh, it is,” Harry nodded vigorously. “Enough for a long stretch in Azkaban, I’d bet. The question is … where did he _learn_ it?”

“And what did he _pay_ for it … or _do_ for it?”

Harry felt a shock of horror slam into his mind. He fell into a chair to consider it.

Papageno jumped into his lap to offer comfort. “Harry … what is it? You’ve gone awfully pale.”

“Voldemort, Pap,” Harry breathed slowly. “It must be him.”

“How?”

“He wanted to spread his message,” Harry spoke rapidly. “But he’s a lunatic, not everyone believes the words of a madman so easily. So he developed a spell, one that would make people believe his doctrine, no matter how hard their sensibilities spoke to them about the reality of what Voldemort was saying.”

“And Hermione always says that what most wizards lack is basic logic!” Papageno hushed.

“All he would have had to do was find someone like Lockhart,” Harry went on vivaciously. “I bet he was a struggling writer or something, because he’s a poor excuse for a wizard. Young, impressionable. Good with words, but with no story of his own to tell.”

“So Tom Riddle offered him the chance to be read by an entire _nation_ ,” Papageno filled in. “All he had to do was spout the party rhetoric and he’d be famous. He’d have all his dreams come to life. But what did he do in exchange?”

“I don’t know, but I’m determined to find out,” Harry riled. “Maybe Voldemort was defeated before he got around to that. Either way, Lockhart knew the spell. Then he went travelling maybe, collected stories, then wrote them as if he’d _lived_ them!”

“And everyone believed him because of the quill! Even though they knew how awful a wizard he is!” Papageno completed. “Oh my. It’s so _sinister_ , Harry.”

“And who knows what his fame has allowed him to get away with!” Harry hissed. “He could have used that quill for _anything_. He could have written to Hermione that she was in love with him … and once she’d read that …”

“... she would have had no choice but to believe it! She would have _wanted_ to do what he asked, to impress him.”

“But she broke free. How?”

“Because … you cant fabricate love. Only _obsession,”_ Pap replied breathily. “Love is too powerful to be pretended. _Real_ love saved her. Saved _us_.”

Papageno looked pointedly at Harry, who felt his heart erupt inside his ribcage. He felt light-headed with it a moment.

“But this still doesn’t explain where Hermione’s dream diary entries went,” Harry went on, his thoughts a melee in his over-wrought brain. “He must have been using something else. But what?”

Then Papageno sucked in a sharp breath. “Harry … look at that! What is it?”

Papageno was pointing his paw back to the desk. Under the piles and piles of copies of _Magical Me_ , something was _flashing_. Harry went to see what it was.

“That’s it, Harry!” Papageno hissed. “That’s _Hermione’s_ dream diary!”

Harry slid it out from under Lockhart’s books. Then he frowned. “This doesn’t look like mine. Or Neville’s, because I’ve seen that. This is much thinner, and the cover feels different. This isn’t the book I bought from Flourish and Blotts.”

“Someone _switched_ them?” Papageno asked. “But when?”

“Who knows, but I’m certain of it,” Harry replied. “I’ll show you mine later to prove it.”

“But why’s it flashing? There it goes again.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

Harry opened the diary, laying it flat so that Papageno could see. There, quite clearly, words were written on the first page. Harry read them … and his heart almost stopped.

“Harry … I don’t understand … I’m scared,” Papageno whispered.

“I know. Me too,” Harry hushed back.

For there, clear as day, a message was flashing up at them both.

“ _Hermione … I haven’t heard from you in a few days. I hope I haven’t upset you. Please talk to me_. _Yours forever, Gilderoy.”_

Harry blinked hard. He didn’t know _who_ was writing that message, but he knew one thing for certain ... it _wasn’t_ Gilderoy Lockhart.


	13. Extending Families

A/N: This is just a fluffy little filler chapter for the Christmas Period, both in the story and in real life!

* * *

Harry jerked awake as the Hogwarts Express came to a full stop and Papageno pawed at his slumbering chin. Harry’s hand flew immediately to his face, to wipe a trail of drool that was running down his jaw. Then he felt cautiously inside his coat pocket. Tom Riddle’s diary was still there, still unanswered, providing a tangible link to the best path Harry had yet found to clear Hermione’s name.

If only he could figure out the best way to use it.

“Are you coming?” Neville quipped, jumping up. “Or do you plan to stay there till January? It might be fun, actually. I’d like to know where the Express goes when we aren’t using it.”

“I don’t know, the Island of Sodor?” Harry joked.

“Where?”

“Nevermind.”

Harry followed Neville from the train. He was holding Papageno like a baby, just in case he somehow lost him on the crowded platform. Harry felt a thrill of excitement as he joined the throng, for he knew he’d be seeing Hermione again soon to return her dæmon to her. Harry felt a pang of sadness at that. He’d gotten used to having Pap around, and he’d miss him when he was gone. He actually _hurt_ at the thought.

Pretty much the same way he ached without Hermione at his side, really.

Harry contented himself with the knowledge that Hermione would be close by for a few minutes anyway. He was looking forward to seeing her face. His world lacked something without her smile in it, like having a crackling fire with no warmth. Harry said his goodbyes to Neville and picked up his travel bag, then set off in search of a familiar face.

But when he found some, his heart sank. For though he found his parents, stood with Lyra and Sirius, Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

It was the first thing he asked when he joined them.

“Where is she?” he demanded. “Where’s Hermione?”

“Her suspension carries to the home, too,” Lyra explained. “Hermione is being restricted in her freedoms, both for her own safety and that of others, on the off-chance that she _is_ responsible for the attacks at Hogwarts. Essentially, she is confined to our flat in Oxford.”

“So … will I be allowed to come and visit her?” Harry asked frantically.

“I’m afraid not,” Lyra sighed sadly. “Dumbledore was very specific about the terms. There are others at the school who have advocated a far more _severe_ punishment. This is the best we can hope for under the circumstances.”

“Well, that sucks,” Harry moaned. “Can I at least _write_ to her? Can I send her a Christmas Card?”

Lyra smiled warmly at him. “I’m sure that will be allowed. It will cheer my girl up no end, too, for she’s been in complete high dudgeon around the flat this last week or so! She's too free-spirited to be caged up like this.”

Harry grinned at that, his mind flooded with images of a frustrated Hermione stomping round and around the flat, with that adorable pout that she always wore when she was angry plastered to her face.

“Okay, well I suppose that’ll just have to do,” Harry sighed. “But I have something for her. Here.”

Harry held out his hands and offered Papageno to Lyra, who backed away sharply, her eyes bulging in fright.

“No!” she hissed lowly, gasping as she stepped clear. “Pap will have to walk alongside us.”

“What … so not even _you_ touch him?” Harry breathed lowly.

“No, I don’t,” Lyra confirmed. “Harry, try to understand … if people from _my_ world saw what you were doing, they’d run from you like you were a devil or a land-ghast or something. Someone who openly _touches_ the dæmon of another would frighten people, probably as much as seeing someone _without_ a dæmon! Forgive me, it is still shocking for me to see it. I can only _imagine_ what it must be like for Hermione to feel it. Actually, I _can’t_ imagine it. The concept is beyond my understanding.”

Harry just stared in disbelief as he listened. Just when he thought he was getting to grips with this complex relationship, something happened to make him see just how much he still had left to learn. Or, perhaps, _unlearn_ … if this was such a violation he was committing, every time he touched Papageno, perhaps he shouldn’t be doing it at all.

The problem was, it didn’t feel _wrong_. In fact, it was quite the opposite. And the dæmon said so, too. Not only that, but it made Harry feel unspeakably close - to Hermione _and_ Papageno - in ways he couldn’t describe for anything else. It was all very confusing.

Then Lyra was saying goodbye, jerking Harry back to the moment. She beckoned Papageno to follow her and Pantalaimon and off she went. Bizarrely, Sirius went with her, rather than staying to return home with the Potters.

“What’s _that_ all about?” Harry asked, watching Sirius disappear through the barrier and away from Platform Nine-and-Thee-Quarters.

“Oh, _well_ ,” Lily began with a wicked smile. “Sirius has been spending a lot of time at Lyra’s lately. A _lot_ of time.”

“It’s our fault, actually,” James grinned shrewdly. “We needed his room for something, and I think he finally got fed up of kipping on the sofa!”

“What did you need his room for?” Harry queried as they, too, left the platform.

“You’ll see,” Lily smiled, her eyes twinkling. “So … _you’ve_ had an eventful term, haven’t you? Tell us all about it.”

So Harry did, launching into an impassioned defence of Hermione before he’d even told his parents the details of what she’d been accused of. He got around to that eventually, but he decided to omit the details about the diary he’d found. He still felt it was his best hope of saving his closest friend, and he didn’t want his parents to confiscate it before he’d had a chance to use it.

“And then Dumbledore suspended her,” Harry completed as they entered the flat door. “Which I think was _totally_ unfair, but Hermione didn’t, so I suppose it’s okay that he did, and she left Pap with me, so it wasn’t so bad, and she’s coming back for the new term, and Dumbledore will let her join the Duelling Club, which I cant _wait_ for by the way …”

And so on and so on until Harry finally ran out of breath. Lily pounced on the opportunity presented by the pause.

“Pop the kettle on, sweetheart,” she urged as Harry prepared to start ranting again.

“What if it doesn’t fit me?” Harry jested cheekily.

“Ho ho ho,” Lily drawled, rolling her eyes in the same sort of way that Hermione did when Harry told her a bad joke. “And fetch me a bit of cake from the fridge, will you? I’m starving.”

“Maybe you should give the cake a wide berth,” Harry teased. “I noticed on the Tube that you’re getting a bit podgy round the middle.”

“Thank you _very_ much!” Lily cried with a laugh. “I think I might need to do a bit of _M_ _umming_ while you're at home, young man! Teach you a few manners!”

“I’m only joking, Mum,” Harry grinned, though he _wasn’t_ really kidding. His Mum had put on a bit of weight since he’d last seen her. And, he reasoned, if _he_ ever started getting that fat, he hoped someone would tell _him_. He saw it as doing his Mum a service.

Then he spotted Sirius’ bedroom off to the right.

“Er … Mum?” Harry began, dropping a tea bag into Lily’s favourite mug. “Why have you painted Sirius’ room _pink_? Don’t get me wrong, it’s a funny prank … but isn’t it a bit much to lower the value of the property?”

James chuckled lowly, as he emerged from depositing Harry's bag in his bedroom. “I told you, son, we needed the room for another purpose.”

“And that purpose requires lurid pink walls?” Harry quizzed, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. “What are you doing? Training a herd of flamingos to dance the bolero?”

Harry snorted at his own witticism.

“Well, we were going to go for butter yellow, but it was a little bit blinding when the sun came through the windows,” James went on shrewdly.

“To be fair, I think we _should_ have gone with paint that changes colour to reflect the mood of the occupant,” Lily mused thoughtfully. “That would have been useful.”

Harry laughed out loud. “It would have been constantly _black_ in that case! Sirius will have a fit when he sees this.”

“Sirius has _already_ seen it,” Lily told him gently.

“In fact, he helped _paint_ it,” James added.

Harry frowned doubtfully. “Sirius helped paint his own room _pink_?”

“It isn’t his room anymore, sweetie,” Lily went on carefully.

“Then whose is it?” Harry demanded.

“Well, they haven’t moved in yet,” Lily smiled. “But they will soon. It’s all decorated and ready for them.”

This Harry had to see. Clearly, his parents were keeping a mystery from him, the answers to which promised to be in this psychedelic and pink-frilled vision.

Then he stepped into the room and became all _sorts_ of confused.

“Mum … there’s a _cot_ in here,” Harry muttered as he backed slowly out of the room. “And a high-chair. And little toys. Are we … having a baby over to stay, or something?”

“Well … you’re half right,” Lily smiled gently.

Harry blinked as the shock of understanding settled on him. Lily stood and moved to her immobilised son, who could see immediately the reason for his mother’s extra girth now she'd taken her big coat off.

“You … you’re … you …”

Harry couldn’t form the words.

“I’m really glad you worked it out so fast,” Lily replied in a whisper. “I bet your Dad ten Galleons that you’d know within an hour of getting home. So … what do you think?”

“You … you’re … _having a baby!_?” Harry breathed, totally stunned. “I’m going to have a little brother or sister?”

Lily nodded with a beaming smile. “You can feel her kicking, if you want?”

Harry watched, open-mouthed, as his mother took his hand carefully and placed it to her belly. Harry's heart was speeding so fast in his chest it was making him giddy. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be trying to feel … but then a little _bump_ hit into his palm, where it was flush against Lily’s womb. It caused Harry to gasp in surprise.

“She kicked me!” Harry hushed in his wide-eyed astonishment. “She really kicked me! Hold on … how do you know she’s a _she_?”

“Because your Mum’s a _mum_ ,” James smirked from the couch. “They know these things!”

“I’m … I’m going to have a little sister!” Harry murmured reverently. He could barely get his mind around the concept. “When? When does she get here?”

“A few more months yet,” Lily replied. “We had a test last week and she’s perfectly healthy and doing fine. Are you excited?”

“Excited? I cant _wait_!” Harry cried in glee, then he crashed into his mother with a big hug, only to pull away quickly in his horror. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I hope I didn’t hurt her! I didn’t, did I?”

Harry put his ear to Lily’s belly just to check.

“No, she’s fine,” Lily smiled down fondly. “She’d have kicked you back if you did. She’s a feisty little thing, this one!”

“Okay, that’s good,” Harry breathed in relief. Then he beamed up at his mother as a burst of restless enthusiasm flooded through him. “Oh, I have so much to do! I’m going to be a _big brother_! I’m going to have to give her some of my old teddies, so she doesn’t get lonely at night … and I have this nice blanket she can have, because it can get very draughty in Sirius’ room, you know … and we’ll have to deep clean the carpet, in case she doesn’t like the smell of wet dog … I wonder if she’ll be allergic to dogs? I hope not … I wonder if she’ll be allergic to _Sirius!_ That would be _so_ funny! … and I’ll have to dig out those old story books of mine … do you think she will prefer Roald Dahl or Enid Blighton? … but she’ll be too little for those at first, wont she? … I’ll have to stick to _Zoric the Alien_ and _Thomas the Tank Engine_ to start with … what else have I forgotten? I’m sure Hermione will tell me. Oh! I haven’t told _Hermione_ the good news! Is Hedwig home? I’ll write to her right now!”

Then Harry shot off like a dart in the direction of his bedroom.

“Hey! Wait!” Lily called back fruitlessly as Harry raced away and closed his bedroom door behind him. Then Lily huffed good-naturedly. “I don’t know, I tell my son I’m pregnant and the first thing he wants to do is run off and tell his little girlfriend about it! I feel like I’ve been replaced already!”

James chuckled as Lily slid down onto the couch and into his wide, waiting embrace. “Don’t worry … you’ll always be the number one girl in _my_ life.”

“Hmm, even when _this_ one pops out?” Lily quirked, rubbing her engorged belly. “I have the feeling she’s going to be a total Daddy’s Girl … and you’ll dote on her just the same. I feel like I’m becoming starved of love in this family!”

James laughed deeply, hugging Lily close as she huffed again. “Don’t fret, honey. I’m sure when Harry and Hermione make you a _grandmother_ you’ll have plenty of use left!”

Lily frowned hard. “Do you want to sleep on the settee tonight? Keep running that mouth of yours and that’s where you’ll end up. Grandma Lily, pfft! … shut up, James! I hate you.”

But James just laughed harder still.

* * *

Hermione walked around her bedroom in a sort of heady daze. She had the goofiest grin on her face, and she didn’t really know why. She was, of course, over the moon to have Papageno back with her, but it wasn’t that. Even _he_ knew that, as he preened himself on her pillows and watched her restless orbit of the room. He wanted to tease her, couldn’t _wait_ to in fact, but he thought he might let her enjoy the moment a bit more first.

For Harry’s Christmas Card had just arrived. And he’d signed it in a very peculiar way.

_Love from Harry xxx_

Hermione swooned like a loon as she read it again. She felt like she wanted to explode with giddy happiness. Harry had never signed his letters like that before. She stopped her pacing and beamed at her dæmon _._

“Harry sent me _kiss_ es, Pap! Did I show you?”

She proffered the little card in both hands as evidence.

“I _think_ you showed me,” Papageno quirked seriously. “Or did I miss the first _seven_ times that you did?!”

“Oh, hush you,” Hermione grinned. “He sent me his _love,_ too. I bet you missed _that_!”

“Oh, I didn’t miss it,” Papageno replied silkily. “I’ve been positively _drowning_ in it since you went away. Harry is so smitten with you it’s unreal. I cant believe I didn’t notice how much before. The way he snuggled me sometimes … I swear he was pretending I was _you_!”

“I _know_ , I could tell … and I was _insanely_ jealous!” Hermione huffed lightly, flopping down onto the bed. She opened her arms and Pap padded into her lap. “But you _are_ me, so I wont be mad at you. Besides, I’ll get my turn soon enough.”

“Then _I’ll_ be the one who’s jealous!” Papageno quipped back. “So … are we going to tell him soon?”

“Tell him what?” Hermione asked shakily.

“Tell him that we’re in love with him.”

Hermione sucked in a breath at her dæmon’s brazen statement, but she couldn’t deny any of it. Of course she couldn’t, this was _their_ heart that Papageno was vocalising. To deny it would be to deny that they both needed air to breathe.

“Do you think he already knows?” Hermione mused quietly. “I mean, he must be starting to understand more about dæmons now. You said he went crazy at the boys in his dorm when they tried to touch you.”

“I thought he was going to fight them all,” Papageno agreed. “He was so fierce and protective of me … so I think he’s getting a better idea about what it all means. Even at the station, when Lyra wouldn’t touch me, I could tell he knew that what we do isn’t normal. It means something important, he knows that ... he’s just taking a while to catch up to us and understand what his heart is trying to tell him, that's all. Give him time - he'll get there.”

“So … you think I _shouldn’t_ tell him? How we feel about him, I mean?”

Hermione’s voice was childishly little with her nerves. Papageno looked up at her.

“I think we should give Harry the chance to tell _us_ ,” the fluffy cat replied. “I’m in no doubt anymore that he feels the same for us as we do for him. No doubt at all. But you remember how scary it was when _we_ first realised it. Realised that we didn’t just love Harry because we were supposed to, or because Dust wanted us to, but because we just _did_. It’s bound to be the same for him, too.”

“You don’t think he’d run away, do you?” Hermione asked desperately.

“No, but I think it might be overwhelming for him if we just fall at his feet when he isn’t ready,” Pap clarified. “He loves us _so_ much, Hermione, more than anyone ever has, I think. And he has so much love to give, too. It isn’t going anywhere, and it might even get stronger, but I think it might overload him if he cant process it all at once.”

“Then how long should I wait?” Hermione demanded. “I want my Harry Hugs, Pap! And I don’t want to wait ages for them! You’ve had them … you can _still_ have them! It just isn’t _fair_ that I cant!”

Papageno smirked as much as a cat could. “I don’t think it will be long. He was so angry when he found out what Lockhart was doing to you … I genuinely don’t think he was joking about smothering him to death. And the way Harry appealed to Dumbledore about you joining the Duelling Club was proof enough. There was _no way_ Harry would have taken no for an answer there.”

“Ooh, maybe that’s it!” Hermione twittered dreamily. “Maybe I should let Harry curse me at Duelling Club, pretend it hurts _really_ badly, and then say he has to kiss me better?”

“In front of the whole year?” Pap quirked. “For it seemed like most people were signing up.”

“Of course. I want the whole _school_ to know when it finally happens.”

“You wouldn’t rather it be somewhere a bit more private and romantic?”

Hermione frowned. “Hmm, yes I suppose that _would_ be better. It would be a nicer memory. Hey, wouldn’t it be horrible if we had our first kiss in the Chamber of Secrets! We might have just killed the basilisk or something, and had wee and poo-juice dripping on us from the old plumbing! Yuk! That wouldn’t be a story I’d like to tell the kids.”

Then Hermione had to throw out a hand to keep her balance. The idea of having children with Harry had threatened to make her faint.

“Speaking of kids, do you think we should tell Harry that we knew his Mum was pregnant?” Papageno asked. “He seems so excited about it in his letter.”

Hermione picked up the three sheets of parchment that came with Harry’s Christmas Card, holding them tight to her chest and smiling deeply. Harry had sighed these with love and kisses, too. Hermione had already memorised almost every word he’d written to her, focusing on his adieu more than all the other parts put together.

“I don’t think it would hurt if we told him,” Hermione considered. “It was obvious when Lily and James came to see us. Harry will make such a good big brother, wont he? I wish I could tell him right away, because he sounds quite nervous about that in his letter. But poor Hedwig needs a rest.”

Hermione and Pap looked over to the window, where Hedwig had covered her head under her wing, on the perch Hermione had made for her. She gave out a low hoot of thanks and went back to sleep.

“It’s a pity, really, that _we_ don’t have secret diaries,” Hermione huffed. “Like Tom Riddle’s. Harry and I could communicate instantly then.”

“Well … why _don’t_ we?” Pap replied quietly.

Hermione blinked at him. “We _could_ have them, couldn’t we? It wouldn’t hurt anyone if we did.”

“No,” Pap agreed. “And then we wouldn’t have to wait for tired little Hedwig to recover and send replies back and forth.”

“Pap! That’s brilliant!” Hermione cried, kissing her dæmon as she leapt up with a burst of boundless energy.

“Where are you going?” Pap demanded.

“I’m going to see Sirius, right now,” Hermione grinned. “I’ll absolutely _insist_ that he helps us make these diaries. Tonight.”

“And if he wont?”

“Oh … he _will_. Trust me.”

Hermione's face lit up with hidden meaning. Papageno cocked his head at her.

“And what if he tells Lyra? She might not let us do this.”

“Oh, he wont tell Lyra, either,” Hermione replied, her eyes flashing deviously.

“What makes you so sure?” Pap asked suspiciously. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Hermione knelt down on her bed and Pap trotted close. Hermione flicked a mischievous grin at the cat. “Sirius will help us … because if he doesn’t, _I’ll_ be the one who tells Lyra something. Specifically, that I found a pretty little Lyra-sized ring in Sirius’ coat pocket the other day. Not any old ring, either Pap … it was an _engagement_ ring! Sirius is going to ask Lyra to _marry him_!”


	14. X's and Oh's

****** **

****A/N:**** Ok, maybe _two_ fluffy chapters. Hey! It's Christmas after all! We'll get back to the proper story next time.

 **A/N #2:** As this is a series rewrite I can set it when I like. So yes, there is modern technology at play here. So sue me. 

* * *

Christmas evening was always a sleepy, subdued affair, and the Potter household was no different. After a day spent eating more food than was advisable in one sitting, the adults would retreat into bottles of brandy and port, getting quietly tipsy while the children played with their presents, or ate their way through second and third helpings of trifle and Christmas cake.

That night, James and Sirius were sat on the settee in the Embankment Flat, discussing the Queen’s Speech with a large glass of amber liquid each, watching Harry and Lily as they gently swayed to a slow Christmas song playing from the radio.

Harry was mindlessly content. Now not every twelve-year-old boy in the land would have been so happy, to be seen holding his mother so tenderly close, with her arms wrapped possessively around his shoulders. But Harry couldn’t give two Sickles about them. He simply closed his eyes and smiled cosily, listening to his mother’s heartbeat as she rocked him soothingly, feeling the occasional soft bump as the baby growing inside Lily kicked and danced along with her mother and big brother.

“I’m happy, Mum,” Harry trilled lowly, snuggling in tight. “I’m warm, and cosy, and full of cake. And I have you and Dad and Sirius. And the new baby too. This is my favourite place to be. Have you thought of a name for my sister yet?”

“We have a few in mind, but we haven’t completely settled on one,” Lily crooned lowly, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s head. “I quite like Seren - which means _star_. But your Dad might prefer something more traditional. Charlotte or Anna are his favourites at the moment, but he changes his mind more often than he changes his underwear!”

“Eww! _Mum_!” Harry chortled. “That’s foul.”

“Be thankful,” Lily teased quietly. “You haven’t _seen_ your father’s boxers! At least it’s Christmas, though. So the ones that have had holes in since _May_ can finally be replaced by the new ones I bought him!”

Harry laughed softly and hugged into his mother’s warmth again. He put on a good, tough front, he thought, but if he was honest, Harry was a sucker for a good cuddle. He remembered how warm and fluffy Papageno had been when he crawled under his covers, during those last weeks at Hogwarts. He was a cat, so of course he was snuggly, but sometimes Harry would remember his scent, and for a _tiny_ moment would realise how much like Hermione’s it was, albeit a feline variant.

And, like a secret, guilty indulgence, Harry would shyly wish that he was cuddling _her_ instead.

Harry’s eyes flew open at that notion. He could feel his heart rate shoot up and race wildly around his chest. He clung onto his mother, slightly afraid of the potency of the emotion that was suddenly rampaging through him. He thought it might cost him his balance if he let it power through him so uncontrolled. His mother responded in kind, hushing soft sounds into his hair as she continued to rock them in a half circle where they stood beneath the mistletoe.

Harry was thankful of his mother’s support just then. It helped him ride the waves of this frightening new sensation. It was so _powerful!_ But what was it? It had come from his heart, so Harry calmed as he accepted that it must be a _good_ emotion to have originated there. But he had never felt anything like it.

Though, despite the abject terror it inspired, he was bizarrely keen to feel it _again_.

So what had caused it? Simple … a simple idea. _Cuddling Hermione_. Not hugging … but _cuddling_. Up until that moment, Harry would have thought of them both as the same thing, but he _now_ saw that there was a universe of difference between them. He was cuddling his mother, he knew that much. And it was totally different to the hugs he got from winning at Quidditch or something. They were night and day, really.

It was the intimacy that separated them, he decided. Harry was warm and cosy and safe, and, above all else _,_ he felt _loved_. Blindingly and mindlessly loved. The certainty of that was enough to bring hot, silly tears stinging behind his eyes. And he was loving his mother right back with all he could give, squeezing her as tightly as the baby between them would allow. There was softness here, gentility too, and Harry was a slave to the sensations, addicted to them, drunk on the affection he was swimming in.

This was _cuddling_ … and Harry felt, with a jolt of shock, that he’d like to hold _Hermione_ just like this.

In that moment, Harry felt sure he had never missed anything so much in his short life as he did Hermione just then. The feeling speared him painfully through the chest. He burned with it. It was like part of him inside had been set alight, and it seared through his veins and boiled over his skin.

Harry didn’t know what to do with the emotion at first. It hurt, but it also thrilled. That was weird. It made him delirious euphoric, but also senselessly afraid at the same time. Which one was Harry supposed to go with? He had no idea. The happiness seemed _scarier_ than the fear in a way. That was new, too.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he wanted to see Hermione. As soon as possible. He trusted she would keep him safe. And warm. And cosy. She wouldn’t let him drown in whatever this deluge was that he was being attacked by. And maybe, just _maybe_ , if Harry hoped _very_ quietly, Hermione might actually want to join him in this whirlpool of gorgeous uncertainty.

And then, right on cue, there was a tinkly little _ping_ from a device on the coffee table.

“Ooh, looks like Hermione’s finally worked out how to use Muggle technology!”

Harry flew away from his mother, as Sirius twittered his announcement from his spot on the settee. Harry snatched up the mobile phone he’d left there, before his Godfather had a chance to read the preview message.

“The question is, do _you_ remember how to use a Smart Phone, son?” James joked. “Annwn was a long time ago for you now.”

“I remember,” Harry scoffed. “What do you take me for?”

“His _son_!” Sirius chuckled. “James has a memory like a sieve. Let’s hope it isn’t a genetic defect!”

Harry grinned at his father. “I get all my genes from my Mum, thanks!”

“No wonder your legs look so _girly_ then!” Sirius teased. “I’ll have to get you a pair of Levi’s when I’m next in Muggle London!”

“You really aren’t funny, do you know that?” Harry taunted. “I’ve heard better jokes in Christmas Crackers!”

James snickered next to Harry. “So, what does Hermione have to say for herself? It’s nearly ten o’clock and that’s the first text message she’s sent you!”

“I don’t know,” Harry volleyed back, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. “She must have been busy.”

“Dont feel bad, kiddo,” Sirius told him consolingly. “It’s probably been a bit of an emotional day over there.”

“Why?” Harry asked in immediate concern.

“It’s Malcolm,” Sirius began. “Oakley Street have called him back to _their_ world. They need him. The Magisterium forces there are making moves into the _Southern_ ice worlds now. They have found some new phenomena at the Aurora _Polaris_ in Antarctica that they are looking to exploit and, as Mal is the foremost expert on such things that Oakley Street have at their disposal, he has to head back to learn what he can about this new development.”

“When will he return?”

Sirius’ expression darkened in an instant. “Where the Magisterium are concerned, _return_ is always a relative and uncertain prospect. The only thing we know is that Mal is going into significant danger. I offered to go with him … but he insisted I stay here and take care of Lyra. His only concern is for _her._ And for Hermione, too. He has come to see her very much as his own daughter. They _both_ have, in fact.”

Harry nodded as he understood that. He felt awful concern for Hermione knowing, as he did, that she viewed Lyra and Mal as surrogate parents, too. Indeed, she more often than not called Lyra ‘ _Mum’_ as she did her name. She barely even noticed that she did it anymore. If Malcolm was leaving them, it must be terribly upsetting for Hermione.

“Is that why you stayed here tonight then?” Lily asked, taking her usual seat in her reclining easy-chair and putting her feet up. “To let them say a last goodbye?”

Sirius nodded solemnly. “It didn’t seem like something I should intrude on. I’ve come to get on well with Mal, but this wasn’t something I had any right to be part of. So I gave them all space to say goodbye in their own way.”

“And now I assume they have,” Lily smiled softly, nodding at Harry’s phone as the notification light flashed on every few seconds.

“Tell me,” Harry asked, battling with the persistent urge to open the message from Hermione. “How did you even get the phones to _work_ around magic? I didn’t think they could.”

“Ah, that was all _me_ ,” James cut in smugly. “I was working on something similar before we left Annwn. It was a simple matter of dampening the effects of a magical field on Muggle electronics, so they don’t get overloaded. I was walking around London, looking at the craft stalls on the Thames for some Christmas decorations, when I got the final piece of the puzzle.”

“A phone _cover_ ,” Sirius nodded, impressed. “Imbibed with a modified Shield Charm, I suppose?”

“Now that was _my_ idea,” Lily grinned. “I always was the better one at Charms.”

“I’ll give you that,” James smirked. “But I’m still the most _charming_ one.”

“If you do say so yourself!” Lily twittered. Then she contorted her face into a grimace. “Ooh, the baby didn’t like that!”

“Are you okay?” Harry and James asked in concerned unison.

Lily smiled fondly at them both. “I’m fine. Little Seren just felt the full force of her Daddy’s ego. I don’t think she was too impressed!”

Sirius chuckled deeply as Harry let out a breath of relief. Then he eyed his parents suspiciously.

“So … you _both_ helped to get these phones to work for me and Hermione?” He asked. “Why?”

“Because we know how much you want to stay in touch with each other,” James replied easily.

Harry gulped. The idea of _touching_ Hermione had taken up residence in his brain again. He couldn’t shake it, as outlandish as it was. Where had this restless need to be near her come from? And why couldn’t Harry stop thinking about it?

“In any case,” Lily was saying. “It’s quite useful for you to have them. Other people around you _wont_ , so you can be sure than when you use them to talk to each other you are who you claim to be. With all this business of enchanted diaries infecting Hogwarts, I for one feel far safer knowing my child isn’t being hoodwinked by anyone. I know Lyra feels the same.”

“Lyra knows about this?” Harry queried. “I wasn’t sure she’d approve.”

“She was sceptical at first,” Sirius confessed. “But I talked her round, showed her the benefits. Then she became very excited about buying sparkly phone covers for me to enchant for Hermione. They are very _blingy_ , apparently. She’s thinking of getting a phone herself in the future just so she can decorate the thing!”

“Maybe we should?” Lily suggested to James.

Harry frowned. “What about knowing for certain that me and Hermione will only get messages from each other? If _everyone_ gets phones this could all go horribly wrong.”

James smirked knowingly. “Don’t worry, Harry, we wont cramp your style. And if you send me one of your lovey-dovey texts by mistake, I promise not to tease you about them. Too much. Maybe.”

“I do _not_ send _lovey-dovey_ anything!” Harry protested hotly, as his father erupted in laughter.

“Try telling that to Hermione,” Sirius sniggered. “She was carrying around that Christmas Card you sent her so often I thought it was part of her outfit! What did you _write_ in that? I tried to sneak a look, but she never put it down long enough for me to see. Whatever it was, you practically enchanted the girl!”

Harry went to object again, but that image of Hermione jammed in his throat. She had carried his Christmas Card _around with her_? That stirred all sorts of lovely in Harry’s mind. It warmed him even more than that sip of brandy he’d stolen earlier when his father wasn’t looking.

The phone light flashed again. Harry looked longingly at it. Lily smiled down at him.

“You can go and talk to Hermione, Harry,” Lily whispered softly. “On the condition that you give me a kiss goodnight _first.”_

Harry grinned and leapt up. He bent down to give his Mum a swift peck on the cheek. "Goodnight, Mum. Love you.”

Then he hurried off to his room and locked the door.

* * *

Fifty miles away, in the part of Oxford that was more university than city, Hermione paced nervously around her bedroom and looked at the collection of wires and glass and plastic on her pillow. It had been over ten minutes since she’d pressed the ‘ _send’_ button, but Harry was still yet to reply. Had she done it wrong? What was keeping him?

“Stop fretting,” Papageno urged. “He might not have seen it. Or he might be on the loo or in the shower. It is late, Hermione.”

“Oh dear, I didn’t think about that!” she yelped in reply, wringing her hands. “Maybe it’s _too_ late. Perhaps I should have waited until the morning -”

And just then …

_Ping._

Hermione practically _flew_ to her bed, flopping down excitedly and snatching the phone up. Laying on her front, and crossing her ankles in the air behind her, she hurriedly opened the message. Papageno padded up the bed alongside her to watch.

“ _Hi. Sorry I took so long. Are you still there?”_

Hermione felt her heart speed in her neck. Why, she couldn’t have said. But it just did. She began tapping away at the touch screen.

“Yes. I. Am. Still. Here,” Hermione wrote out carefully.

Papageno frowned. “I’m sure you don’t need to _say_ all the words you’re typing, you know!”

“Oh, did I say that out loud?” Hermione asked in surprise. “I didn’t realise!”

“It’s fine. But you might want to press _‘send’.”_

“Oh, of course,” Hermione replied, before hastily following the instruction.

“ _Good. I was afraid you might have thought I was ignoring you and went to bed in a mood with me!”_

Hermione chuckled lightly. “I wasn’t ignoring you?”

_“Question mark?”_

Hermione huffed at that. “Sorry. I meant ‘!’. I’m still getting used to how this works. I wasn’t sure I was doing it right.”

“LOL! _You’re doing it just fine.”_

 _“_ LOL?”

“ _Laugh Out Loud. There are a whole load of little acronyms like that. I’ll send you a list of the ones I know.”_

“Thanks. I need all the help you can give me! Oh, by the way, Merry Christmas!” Hermione typed, then she hesitated nervously before adding, “ _xxx.”_

Over in London, Harry felt his heart leap into his mouth. “ _Merry Christmas to you, too xxxx.”_

“ _Four_ kisses?” Hermione swooned. “Always has to go one better that boy, doesn’t he, Pap?”

“Is that a complaint?” Papageno snickered back.

“Absolutely _not!_ ” Hermione grinned. “I don’t think I could ever have _enough_ kisses from Harry. Should I tell him that?”

“Not right now. Look.”

_Ping. “Sirius told me about Mal. Are you okay x?”_

Hermione felt her heart sing in her ribcage. Harry was _concerned_ about her! It was Christmas Night, he was with his family, but he was thinking about how _she_ was! Hermione felt certain her head was going to fall off if she didn’t hold it in place.

“I’m fine,” Hermione typed. “It was very sad when Mal left, but he’s as tough as old dragonhide. He made me cry when he said he was only going to stop the Magisterium from hurting me and Mum, I mean _Lyra_. I have to stop doing that! But I’m okay now. I just wish - what does it mean ‘ _character limit reached’_?”

Harry’s laugh could be heard all the way from London, if Hermione had listened very closely.

“ _You have a limit of words per text. Don’t worry, I just got it in two bits. I did wonder why Mal wanted to stop the bad guys ‘hurting’. I know he’s a nice guy, but still!”_

Hermione laughed deeply. “Oh, Harry! You’re so silly! I’ve missed that.”

There was a pause, maybe of thirty seconds or so. Hermione could feel Harry thinking, deliberating, maybe watching the Thames flow by as he decided if it was safe to send whatever it was he was writing. It ramped up Hermione’s anticipation by a factor of fifty. She held her breath until her phone pinged again.

_“I’ve missed you too.”_

Hermione squealed … actually _squeaked_ like a little mouse or something. She read the words again and again. She wanted them to be burned into her eyes.

“Aww … he’s _missed_ me, Pap!” she hushed under her breath.

“Of course he has,” the dæmon replied sagely. “But better not leave him hanging, though. He might think you find it weird that he has.”

“Oh right!” Hermione yelped. She tried to type quickly again, but found that her hands were trembling. “Stupid fingers! Work properly!”

“I’ve missed you,” Hermione eventually managed to type. “So, so much. I was so hoping to be able to see you over Christmas. I swear, when I get my hands on that basilisk I’m going to bite its eyes out for this!”

_“LOL!!! These phones have cameras, you know, and I’m so going to film that!”_

Hermione bit her lip nervously. Her hands hovered over the digital keyboard a moment. “Cameras, you say? So you can take pictures with them?”

_“Yes. You can record videos too. You know, moving pictures.”_

“I know what a video is, Harry! I’m not totally backwards, you know!”

_“Sorry. You’re so complex I forget which bits of this world you know and which ones you don’t. But REALLY I should know that you know EVERYTHING. You’re just amazing like that.”_

“Oh, _Harry!”_ Hermione breathed lowly to herself, smiling so brightly that Pap felt like looking away. “Stop doing these things to me when you’re so far away and I cant kiss you stupid for them!”

_Ping. “Why were you so interested in the camera?”_

Hermione gulped. It was time for a risk. “I was hoping you could take a picture and send it to me. I want to see you. I miss your face.”

Another delay. _“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours!”_

Hermione laughed and blushed all at the same time. “My hair’s a mess! I haven’t brushed it before bed yet. It’s all over the place and I haven’t got any make-up on or anything.”

_“That’s how I like you best xx.”_

Hermione felt her heart leave her body. Her mind had long gone with it.

“Okay, but can I wait until tomorrow? I need a shower to sort my hair, and I actually don’t know how to take and send pictures yet. Can you wait till the morning?”

 _“Not really … but I will!_ ”

Hermione wished she could control her pulse. It was hammering so hard in her neck that Pap was pawing at it to keep it in.

“You can still send me yours?” Hermione chanced.

_“Well that just wouldn’t be fair, would it! If I have to wait, then so do you. So there!”_

“That really isn’t _fair_ , Harry!” Hermione huffed at her phone. “I think I hate Harry a little bit, Pap!”

“No you don’t, you _love_ him,” Papageno corrected piously. “We both do.”

“Yes, we do,” Hermione swooned with a beaming grin. She went back to her phone.

“Fine, spoilsport! But you had better send me _two_ pictures to make up for your cheek! By the way, Pap says hello.”

 _“Hi Pap, I’m sure you’re reading this too. Merry Christmas. Hermione … odd question … and it’s only because of Mum and her ‘condition’ … but if_ you _had a baby, would he or she have a little d_ _æ_ _mon too? Not that you’ll have one right now, obviously, but when you’re older?”_

There was something once invented called _breathing_ , but Hermione had forgotten what it was and how to do it.

“What do I say?” Hermione hushed. “He’s asking about children!”

“Why are you so panicked?” Pap asked. “It’s not like he’s talking about _our_ children. Or is he?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione whispered. She took a deep breath. “No, of course he isn’t. I’m just being silly.”

“I think my children would have dæmons, yes. I saw a nursery once and all the babies there had them. They were all little things - tiny mice and humming birds and things - but yes, they had them.”

_“And what if you had a baby here? In this world?”_

“I … I really don’t know.”

 _“What would you prefer? Would you like them to have dæmons_ _or not?”_

“I’d have to think I _would_ like my babies to have them. Because I have one and that’s what I’m used to. I would find it strange for my children to not have dæmons.”

 _“I think I’d quite like my children to have d_ _æ_ _mons_ , _too. It would be so nice. I’m actually a bit jealous that you have Pap and my d_ _æ_ _mon is stuck inside me.”_

Hermione blinked hard. “Pap … is Harry saying he’d like to have children with me? Is that what he’s saying?”

“Um … I’m not sure. He’s just saying he’d like his own children to have dæmons. Though that _would_ mean going to our world -

“- and who else would he go there with?”

“Dont get all panicked. This is all just theoretical.”

Hermione swallowed hard. “Of course it is. Just keep it light and breezy.”

“If you want a dæmon _,_ you can always borrow Pap! I think he quite liked staying with you!”

_“I liked looking after him, too. But, Hermione, if it’s weird that I keep touching him - and you don’t like it - just tell me to stop. I’ll understand. Lyra explained it a bit more to me.”_

“Lyra can just keep her big fat mouth shut!” Hermione seethed. When she was done Lyra was owed a telling off for sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. Hermione typed quickly. “I don’t want you to stop, Harry. As long as you don’t mind it, I don’t either. Actually, I quite like it. It makes me feel close to you.”

_“I think that, too! But I know how … personal … it is now.”_

“We’re best friends, Harry.”

_“Do you let your other friends touch Pap?”_

“Well … no.”

_“But I can?”_

Hermione took another gulp of air. “As often as you want. The more often the better, actually.”

Harry didn’t respond with words. Just a smiley face and a little heart icon. Hermione shivered pleasantly as she read them. Where were these little pictures on the phone? She had to find them to send one back.

Then Harry sent another text. _“I have to go. My Dad is tipsy and insisting I play drunken charades with them all. I just wanted to say Merry Christmas to you before you went to bed.”_

Hermione smiled broadly. “And to tell me you missed me!”

_“And that! Well, Merry Christmas, Hermione xxx”_

“Merry Christmas, Harry. I hope I’ll be waking up to those pictures you promised! xxx”

_“I’ll try. But don’t blame me if they put you off your cornflakes! Goodnight xxx.”_

“Goodnight, Harry,” Hermione typed and spoke at the same time. Then she kissed her phone, which was her new favourite toy in the whole world, and slid herself happily into bed.


	15. The Fairytale Princess of Hogwarts

Harry and Hermione spent the remainder of the holidays practically glued to their phones, so much so that Lily even had to invent a clever little charm whereby the phone batteries drew energy from their magic to recharge. It would be handy when they returned to school, Harry reasoned, for he was pretty sure there were no plug sockets anywhere around the ancient castle.

When January the Third rolled around, however, Harry was equally as nervous as he was excited to see Hermione again. It wasn’t that he couldn’t wait to be in her presence once more - for that was a given - but it was simply down to the nature of their text message exchanges, which often had spilled over late into the nights and early mornings.

They had started off playful and sort of cutesy, but they had tangented off pretty quickly after that. The lack of face-to-faceness meant that both Harry and Hermione had found the courage to be a little bolder in what they were saying to each other, a degree more than they would ever have been in person. The texts had become delicately more personal and intimate, sharing their private hopes and dreams with each other in ways that they hadn’t been brave enough to before.

There was nothing _too_ overt, but Harry was a little terrified of what Hermione would be thinking when she saw him next, considering that Harry told her almost daily that he missed her like crazy and couldn’t stand not seeing her pretty face every day, even if he didn’t use those _exact_ words. There was a large part of him that was convinced he should have kept such confessions very much to himself.

But Harry needn’t have worried. For as soon as Hermione spotted him on Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters on that drizzly January morning, she immediately disentangled herself from Lyra and raced the length of the platform to clobber Harry with a hug that knocked him flat. Or it would have, if his father hadn’t been standing right behind him to catch them both before they hit the deck.

“Hi,” Hermione smiled breathlessly, her cheeks colouring as she moved her head back to look at him. She hadn’t let him go though. “What took you so long? We’ve been waiting _ages_ for you!”

The definition of _we_ soon became clear, as Harry felt Pap walking in a tight circle around his and Hermione’s ankles. Then the cat began clawing gently at the leg of Harry’s brand new Levi jeans.

“Can I?” Harry asked cautiously to Hermione, motioning down at Papageno who was practically climbing his calf.

“Mmm-hem,” Hermione allowed, rolling her lips together expectantly, her expression unfathomably bright.

Harry reached down and scooped Papageno up into his arms. He saw Hermione’s eyes roll back into her head a moment and she bit her lip, as her breath caught with the contact between Harry and her dæmon. Her chest rose and fell with a surge of blatant joy and Harry knew he was on safe ground.

“Is it _always_ like that?” he quipped with a grin.

“Every time,” Hermione squeaked breathily. “Come on, let’s go and find a compartment before they all get full.”

“Have a good term,” Lily called, as Hermione dragged her boy away. “If the baby comes while you’re at school we’ll let you know!”

“Yeah!” James laughed. “We’ll try and make sure it happens while you are in Potions, give old Snape a reason to let you off your homework!”

“They wouldn’t _really_ try and get you out of _homework_ , would they?” Hermione asked as they boarded the Express. She sounded slightly scandalised at the notion. “That’s really quite irresponsible!”

“That’s my Dad for you!” Harry laughed. “Here, this compartment will do.”

Harry flopped down next to the window, Hermione choosing the seat opposite him. Pap curled up on the seat next to Harry and decided to have a nap. They were about to start talking when the compartment opened and a blonde-haired first-year girl that Harry didn’t recognise came in. He wanted to tell her to go away, as he didn’t want to share the compartment with anyone but Hermione, but the girl had the most protuberant eyes Harry had ever seen, and an expression that looked eternally surprised.

“Can I help you?” Harry asked, a little bit more harshly than he meant. Hermione heard, and slapped his thigh lightly to tell him off for his bad manners. Harry didn’t care about _that_ , for Hermione’s touch on his leg had sent electric shockwaves shooting through his entire body. He tried to shake them clear when they reached his head and threatened to fog up his brain.

“Oh no, just checking for Nargles,” the girl replied, in a sweet, dreamy voice. “But this compartment seems clean. Have a good trip, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.”

And the girl slipped out of the compartment and closed the door.

“She was odd,” Harry considered thoughtfully.

“How did she know our names?” Hermione mused. “Are we really _that_ famous now?”

“Must be,” Harry pondered. “So, any idea what’s going to happen to you back at school? Dumbledore said you’d be placed under _restrictions_ at first.”

“Yes, he said that to me when he suspended me,” Hermione replied sniffily. “But he didn’t say what they might be. I have to have a meeting with Professor McGonagall as soon as I arrive, so I imagine I’ll learn my fate then.”

“I wonder if there have been any more attacks over the holidays?” Harry mused. “It’s horrible to say, but I sort of hope there _have_ been. It would certainly get you off the hook.”

“You shouldn’t wish for something like that, Harry,” Hermione admonished in a worried sort of voice. “That creature is _lethal._ ”

“I know. But if it was Malfoy, I could live with it!”

Then they spent the early part of the trip constructing a hierarchy of people they’d stare at if they had basilisk juice in their vision. It got silly when they had to play rock, paper, scissors to decide if Peeves would get it before the Bloody Baron, so they took a break for lunch, and didn’t resume their madness once they’d filled their bellies with sandwiches and assorted pastries.

Once they’d reached the castle many hours later, and had the Welcome Back feast, Hermione was escorted away by Professor McGonagall as the Gryffindors trudged back towards the Fat Lady. Harry waited up for over an hour for her to return, but in the end tiredness dragged him towards bed. He changed in the dark silence, for the other boys were already deep asleep, and prepared to slide under his covers.

But not before … _ping._

“Where’s the cannon?” Ron croaked dopily from the far end of the dorm, before falling instantly back into his snores.

Harry smirked at himself and reached for his phone. He thought he had better put it into silent mode, just in case though. Slipping his head under his quilt, he opened the message.

_“Hey? Are you still up? Sorry to wake you if you were sleeping.”_

“I’m here,” Harry typed back. “I waited for you. Where are you?”

_“McGonagall’s personal chambers. I have to STAY here! They aren’t letting me back to Gryffindor Tower yet. Urgh!”_

Harry snorted out a laugh that he failed to keep in. “Well, at least she should have plenty of kitty litter and toys for Pap, considering she can turn into a cat!”

_“He says you are NOT funny! And I agree! I’m poking my tongue out at you, just so you know.”_

“There’s an emoticon for that,” Harrytyped, grinning to himself. “This one.”

And he sent it to her.

_“I know, but it looks like I’m saying I want to lick you lol!”_

Harry hesitated nervously. “Are you saying you don’t? I might be tasty!”

A pause at the other end. _“You are definitely tasty, Harry. You’re my favourite flavour!”_

Harry felt his heart flutter around his chest as he read the words for the third time.

“So do you have to stay over there all the time? For lessons and everything?”

_“Yes. Prof. McG. will bring me all my homework and class notes using something called a Pensieve at the end of each day, so at least I wont fall behind. I’m looking forward to seeing what a Pensieve is, actually, as I’ve never heard of one before. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again. I asked, and she wont let my favourite proofreader over to help me, though. That’s you, in case you didn’t get my ever-so-subtle meaning!”_

“Oh no!” Harry typed. “That’s very unfair. I’ll have a word with her about it tomorrow.”

“ _And say what? You wont be able to change her mind, Harry.”_

“I can try. I haven’t seen you all over the holidays, now they are going to stick you in McGonagall Tower on your own! I’m not having that! It was so great to see you on the train today. I’m not letting them take you away from me so soon without at least a row.”

_“That’s sweet, but you wont make them free me until the person who has opened the CoS is caught. I feel a bit like Rapunzel trapped in this Tower! I’ve certainly got the hair for it! Hey - if I grow it a bit longer and dangle it from the window will you climb up and rescue me!!?”_

Harry smiled widely to himself. “I could just use my Nimbus, you know! I wouldn’t damage your roots that way!”

_“Maybe … but I think I prefer my way. It would be nice to be the princess in my own fairy tale!”_

Harry swallowed sharply. “Shall I?” he thought. He typed, and promptly deleted, his reply three times. “Oh, just do it, you scaredy-cat! What’s the worst that could happen? She could tell you to sod off, that’s what. That would be pretty bad. But if she doesn’t, she might say something nice back. It’s worth the risk.”

So he typed again. “If you were a princess … and I rescued you … what would that make me?”

Hermione’s reply came flying back at him.

_“It would make you my prince, obviously! Honestly, Harry, don’t you know how fairy tales work??”_

“And would you like that to … to be your _happily ever after_?” Harry typed with trembling fingers. “With me as your prince?”

Harry breathed heavily until his phone shook with the reply.

_“I have to go. McG. is on the prowl … Night, Harry.”_

Harry sighed, his heart sinking sharply. He went to slide his phone back under his pillow, only for it to ping again suddenly.

_“But to answer your question … yes x ! Now go to sleep! xx.”_

Harry read the words with shaking eyes. “Sleep! Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione! How am I supposed to sleep after you said _that_?”

* * *

But sleep he did. Eventually.

The next day most of the Gryffindors were curious about Hermione’s suspicious absence from classes. There was an explosion of rumours about her which spread from that, because the rest of the school began to wonder if she’d been attacked by the monster. Harry was bombarded with questions about it and the truth soon outed, leading Hermione’s dorm-mates to begin an outraged campaign to ‘Free the Hogwarts One!’

But Hermione wasn’t released. Her incarceration lasted for weeks. Harry was permitted to deliver her sweets as relief packages, though he was still only allowed to speak to her through the door of Professor McGonagall’s chambers. And as the weeks wore on with no sign of the restrictions being lifted, the _Rapunzel Contingency_ , as they had dubbed it, was becoming more a more like a feasible action.

At the beginning of February, however, Dumbledore finally made some concessions. Hermione was still kept to her new lodgings with Professor McGonagall, but as she as was her favourite teacher Hermione confessed that she didn’t mind the set-up too much. They had started to bond over late-night cocoa and scrabble sessions, that helped alleviate Hermione’s stir-craziness from being locked away so much.

And she was now allowed to return to class with everyone else. She had to be escorted to and from each lesson by a teacher, which was annoying when it fell to Snape to take a turn, but Harry and Hermione were so pleased to be back together that they were even prepared to overlook this niggling oversight. Indeed, by the first week of the month, which marked seven straight weeks since the last attack, Dumbledore dropped the restrictions further, allowing Harry to chaperone Hermione back to McGonagall alone following dinner every evening.

This was a decision that Harry and Hermione immediately took advantage of, contriving to take the longest routes possible from the Great Hall back to Gryffindor Tower, often detouring to the Owlery, Astronomy Parapets and the Divination Tower on the way, even though these were on the other side of the castle. They were careful not to push their luck _too_ far, though Harry was sure that Professor McGonagall knew what they were up to, if her subtle grins at him when he delivered Hermione safe and sound to her, if a bit later than expected, were anything to go by.

February the Fourteenth arrived in a welcome ray of weak sunshine peaking over the highland crags. But this was the only nice thing about it, Harry decided quickly, for as soon as he entered the Great Hall for breakfast he thought he was going to be sick. Lurid, pink decorations had replaced the traditional hangings and curtains, and the ceiling was a forget-me-not blue, complete with heart-shaped clouds which rained pink and gold, heart-shaped confetti.

“What in the name of all that is holy is _this_?” Harry demanded in disgust as he plonked himself down next to Neville.

“Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?” Neville replied, seeming equally as nauseous. “I bet it was Lockhart’s idea before the monster did him in. He was probably hoping to _love_ the Chamber of Secrets closed!”

“I think I want to vomit,” Harry complained bitterly. “And what are _those_?”

Harry pointed up to the ceiling. There seemed to be dozens of small, white birds flapping around just below the chandeliers, the candles of which were now fluffy and had little cupid’s arrows through them.

“Valentines Doves,” Ron explained, eyeing the birds in a mix of fear and hope. “You might want to put your hat on, Harry, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

He learned quite _what_ a moment later. One of the doves spotted someone on the Ravenclaw table … and immediately _dive-bombed_ them, dropping a card on their head as they pulled up from the dive just in time.

“They are delivering Valentines to people,” Ron went on. “And - as you’re _you_ \- I expect you’ll take a hammering when the birds spot you. I know, er, that my sister will be giving you a card at some point today. Sorry, she’s a bit obsessed with you.”

Harry glanced fearfully down the table at Ginny Weasley, who buried her face in her arms as he met her eye. She was so flushed that her whole head looked like it was on fire.

“Well that’s just _great,_ ” Harry grumbled. “Wonderful.”

“What is?”

Harry brightened up at the sound of Hermione’s voice behind him. She slid onto the bench and helped herself to some fruit from a bowl nearby.

“This!” Harry gestured bitterly at the new decorations. “Have you _seen_ this monstrosity?”

Hermione giggled at his side. “Oh, come on, Harry! It’s not that bad.”

“Not that _bad_? It’s pink, Hermione! I feel like I’m trapped in candy floss!”

Hermione laughed again. “So, has anyone had any Valentines yet?”

“I did,” Neville replied smugly. “Two, actually.”

“You have?” Harry asked, feeling an odd pang of jealousy. “From who?”

“Well, Fay gave me one in the Common Room this morning, which was weird enough,” Neville confessed, colouring slightly. “And then - and you’ll never guess this - that Daphne girl from Slytherin sent me one with the doves. You know, the shy one with the glasses. I thought it was a joke, you know. Maybe Malfoy put her up to it or something. But then she came over and said she was helping Professor Sprout with the teenage Mandrakes later, and that if I wanted to help her clean up their acne she’d love to have me as a partner.”

“You’re not going to go, are you?” Ron demanded. “She’s a Slytherin! You don’t want to risk being alone with one!”

“She’s a girl, first and foremost,” Neville argued. “So I think I’ll take my chances! She’ll protect me from Slytherin’s Monster at any rate.”

“Fay will be disappointed,” Hermione mused sadly. “She likes you quite a lot, don’t you know?”

Neville flushed completely now. “Does she? She never said.”

“Well she, sort of, just … _did_. Oh my!”

Hermione shrieked out a giggle, for suddenly two dozen of the doves shot directly at her. Well, at _Harry_ sat next to her, really. Harry was taken by surprise, just sitting there as card after card bounced off his head. Hermione was rocking in her laughter now, and the boys soon joined in. Harry scowled at them all in turn, but that just made them laugh harder still.

“I _hate_ Valentines Day!” Harry scythed mutinously as the cards piled up around him. “I’ve literally been assaulted! Beaten into submission by love and kisses and the colour _pink_!”

“Well, I suppose one more wont hurt then, will it?” Hermione whispered.

Blushing crazily, she reached into her bag and pressed a bright pink enveloped into Harry’s chest as she stood up. She bent down close to breathe into his ear.

“Happy Valentines Day, Harry. Don’t open it until you are alone, okay?”

Then she placed a swift, terribly nervous kiss to his cheek, and hurried away to her first chaperone of the day before Harry had a chance to respond. He looked up in time to see Ginny and Demelza Robins scowling jealously at Hermione’s retreating form before turning back to the conversation.

“You two are so sickly sweet you make me want to puke,” Ron teased from the other side of the table.

“But she isn’t his girlfriend, Ron, remember that,” Neville quirked next to him, before winking at Harry.

“Oh, no _of course_ not!” Ron sniggered. “Seriously, my _parents_ have less intimacy than these _best friends_.”

“Shut up, you two!” Harry retorted crossly.

“Harry, we’re just messing,” Neville pacified. “Relax.”

“No, it’s not that,” Harry moaned. “It’s just … I didn’t get Hermione a card. I should have, shouldn’t I?”

Ron and Neville nodded in unison, grimacing at Harry’s hopelessness.

“All may not be lost,” Ron suddenly said. “What you need is a grand gesture, to make up for your lapse.”

“I’m listening,” Harry replied keenly, leaning in.

“It’s Valentines Day. You and your witch need to be on your own together. And she’s currently being held captive in Chateau McGonagall. What you need to do … is _kidnap her!_ Take her somewhere quiet and private. Make it all your fault, so that you get told off for it later, and not her. It might be worth it, especially if you get a snog out of it!”

Harry felt blood rush to his cheeks. That idea … it wasn’t wholly bad. And the end promise … Harry decided that he would have tried far stupider things if _that_ prize was on offer.

“But how am I supposed to kidnap her?” Harry asked. “This is McGonagall we’re talking about. She’ll have all angles covered.”

Ron sat back, his work done. “Hey, Harry, I’m just an ideas man. The details are something you have to work out for yourself.”

“Thanks,” Harry sniped. “You’re about as useful as a waterproof teabag.”

Even so, the idea had taken root in Harry’s brain now. And it became doubly incentivised as the day progressed, for it soon became clear that the bulk of his Valentines Cards had come from the girls of the _Harry Potter Fan Club_. Harry reticently opened each one, with Hermione’s assistance, between lessons. On the one hand, it distracted them both from _her_ card to Harry, and whatever the mysterious content was that Harry had been told to view alone, as well as her shy kiss at breakfast.

It also gave a window into the reason Harry had been the target of so many cards. For almost every one contained an invitation to a special Valentines Party the Club were holding that night. Hermione teased Harry that he should go and watch the girls all fight over which invitation he’d accepted. She found that image hilarious, but was left livid by the three marriage proposals Harry had also received, the senders of which would only be revealed once Harry had accepted one of them.

So Hermione put a spell on Harry so that he couldn’t say the words ‘ _yes’_ or _‘I do’_ for the next twenty-four hours, until the binding enchantments on the cards wore off. He also spent the day dodging Ginny and Demelza and even Colin Creevey, who were liable to give chase repeating the invitations to the party, until either Harry or Hermione snapped at them to go away, or they escaped into the safety of their next lesson.

After dinner, once Harry and escorted Hermione back to Professor McGonagall, he turned his mind back to the kidnap plans. He had only gotten as far as deciding to simply blast the doors off her chambers and then leg it with Hermione into the Forbidden Forest, when suddenly his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He took it out to find Hermione video calling him.

She looked rather frantic. “Oh, Harry. Good. I’m doing it right.”

“Hermione? What is it?” Harry queried. Then he noticed her background. “Why are you near the Arithmancy classrooms? Have you _snuck out_?”

“I had to, Harry!” Hermione squeaked. “I heard it again! I heard the voice!”

Harry was alert in a flash. “Where? When?”

“Just as I was getting changed after dinner,” Hermione replied briskly. “But never mind that! Harry … the creature … it’s _loose_ again! And I heard it say it’s going to kill someone! I’m going to see if I can find it first!”

“No!” Harry yelped, cold fear prickling through him. “Go back to Minerva. Tell her about it. I’m coming to find you.”

“No, you wont get here in time,” Hermione shot back. “I can _still_ hear it. It can _smell blood_! Oh, Harry! I hope I’m not too late.”

“Hermione, please!” Harry begged desperately. He couldn’t think straight for his racing terror. “Please! Just go back!”

“I can hear it, Harry! It’s just around this corner! Hey! Maybe I can _film it_! I can prove that it isn’t me controlling it! I might even catch the person who is. I can hear it moving, Harry … it sounds _massive …_ it’s slithering over the flagstones! It’s so _close_ , Harry … you’d better look away, just in case … I’ll just flip the camera direction …”

Then Harry heard a sharp scream that he knew would haunt his nightmares for a _long_ time. It was the sort of screech he hoped he would _never_ have heard Hermione make. But here she was … making it in high-pitched fright. It seared through his eardrums like a red-hot razor.

There was a fizzing sound as if the camera had been melted … and everything went dark and silent.


	16. Knowledge is Power

Harry pelted through the corridors as fast as he could, with Neville struggling to keep up in his wake. His legs were pumping hard and fast, but they were poor competitors for his heart in that department, which was thumping so hard that Harry half-expected it to burst clear from his chest cavity and lead the way to his quarry.

And it was a quarry that Harry couldn’t even bear to comprehend the current state of.

In a worst case scenario, Harry was already considering the Restricted Section of the library, which must have contained the incantation to the Killing Curse. He hoped Neville would feel up to using it, though, for Harry’s hands were trembling so much he knew he wouldn’t be able to cast it on himself. But he tried not to think about that outcome. Hermione would still be alive … she had to be. She just had to.

Up this staircase, down that corridor, through this tapestry - it was amazing that Harry knew the correct route. It was as though an invisible hand were guiding him. Despite this, it still seemed to take an age to reach the gloomy hallway outside the Arithmancy classrooms, which was the last place that Harry knew Hermione to be.

“Harry! Look out!”

Neville’s warning came just in time.

For as they came skidding round the corner into the corridor they were met by a most unexpected barrier - a body on the floor! Harry vaulted it just in time and turned to see who it was, his fraught mind speeding around his skull.

“It’s _Colin_!” Neville hissed as he finally caught up to Harry. “He’s been Petrified!”

“And look at his camera!” Harry murmured, picking up the smashed item from next to Colin’s statue-like figure. “Maybe he managed to catch a photo of the monster …”

Harry opened the back of the camera. It hissed like water hitting a screaming hot frying pan, and the film curled and melted as Harry dropped the camera in surprise.

“We just cant catch a bit of luck, can we?” Neville moaned bitterly. Then he looked up. “Harry! There’s another body over there!”

Harry darted up in a flash. He hurried down the corridor to a second victim, hunched up against the wall. But this wasn’t Hermione, either.

“Demelza,” Harry hushed, turning the body gently. “She must have been with Colin … on the way to the Valentines Party maybe. They meet on the Third Floor near here, don’t they?”

Neville nodded. “Yeah. That’s where Fay wanted to take me tonight. She had agreed to chaperone the party. Harry … what’s that?”

Neville pointed to a shiny object in Demelza’s Petrified-shut fist.

“It’s a mirror!” Harry whispered sharply. “ _Hermione’s_ mirror! The one Lavender gave her, to keep an eye out for the Hufflepuffs after Sally was attacked.”

“But why would Demelza have it?”

Harry frowned as he thought. Then it came to him. “Hermione could hear the monster. She knew not to look at it, because it would Petrify you. She must have been using the mirror to look around corners. But _she_ was following it with her phone camera! She must have given the mirror to Demelza and told her what to do!”

“But how does Hermione know what the monster is?”

“We’ve suspected for ages that it’s a giant snake … a Basilisk,” Harry explained.

Neville sucked in a shocked breath. “Why didn’t you say?”

“Because,” Harry began. “Hermione and I have been hearing disembodied voices in the walls. That’s not a good thing to confess in the magic, Muggle or _Hermione’s_ world. Besides, we read about the historical stigma that comes with being a Parselmouth.”

“Mmm,” Neville agreed. “Slytherin could speak it, couldn’t he?”

“Not just him, but _Voldemort,_ too,” Harry explained. “We think that … and don’t go blabbing this … we think it was _Voldemort_ that was possessing Hermione using the dream diary. Lockhart is involved somewhere - but we haven’t solved that bit yet - but Hermione inherited a bit of Voldemort’s power, just like I did when he tried to attack me as a baby.”

“So you _both_ can speak Parseltongue!” Neville exclaimed. “Wow. If people knew _that_ they’d _definitely_ have expelled Hermione by now!”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed. “They might even have slung her in Azkaban. If they do that for kids. So we kept it to ourselves. We were hoping to find a way to use the power to prove that either Hermione was totally innocent and not involved at all, or that someone was acting _through_ her. I stole the diary from Lockhart’s office, I just haven’t decided what to do with it yet.”

“But, if Hermione heard the voice and _wasn’t_ possessed, then she couldn’t have opened the Chamber and released the Basilisk tonight?” Neville considered.

“No, so it proves her innocence,” Harry agreed.

“But if she didn’t do it … who did?” Neville asked, darkly. “ _Someone_ has to be responsible.”

“I don’t know, and for now I don’t _care_! I just have to find Hermione. Come on!”

They leapt up and took off again, sprinting away from Colin and Demelza. Harry tried to feel bad about leaving them behind, but he was single-minded in his hunt for Hermione now. She was his priority and he was mindless in his pursuit of her.

And he didn’t have to look too far.

For there, in the very next corridor, they found her. Harry’s eyes fell on her figure, that familiar shape that he had come to know so very well. It was undoubtedly her. But she was in a pool of something ominously dark. Harry’s knees splashed into it with a echo as he fell at her side.

“No, no, no,” he moaned throatily. He couldn’t bring himself to touch the substance cascading against his sodden shins.

But Neville did. And Harry could have kissed him when he said what it was.

“It’s water, Harry, just water,” Neville whispered, scooping a palmful up to his nose. He let it splash back to the floor.

“Dont let her be dead … it’s my fault if she’s dead …”

Harry couldn’t even move to look at Hermione, let alone assess her condition. Neville took the lead again.

“That’s a pulse, Harry! I’m sure it is!”

A wave of palpable relief crashed into Harry so powerful that he had to brace himself against the wall to stay sitting upright. He felt his heart start beating again in his chest. He hadn’t even noticed that it had stopped.

“Are you sure?”

“Here … feel.”

Neville guided Harry’s fingers to Hermione's wrist. Harry disregarded that … and took her whole hand in his own. Her skin was so _cold_. That was what struck Harry the most. It took his own breath in an agonized rush. But then he felt it …

_Thump … thump … thump …_

A steady thrum at Hermione’s wrist against his own fingertips! Harry felt light-headed as he marked the moments with each beat of Hermione’s pulse, her heart still beating strong within her body. She was alive! And Harry was overcome with a heady surge of emotion in that moment.

Completely forgetting that Neville was there, Harry threw his chest atop Hermione’s and snatched his arms around her shoulders. His lips fell naturally to her cheek, as his head nestled in the crook of her neck, and he pushed them out to kiss the side of her face once, twice, three times. He didn’t even care that Neville would see or how he might tease him for it later.

And, for the first time, Harry accepted that all the things people had been saying about him and Hermione were completely right. He had just taken the longest time to see it, to know what it was.

But the fairytale ending Harry had hoped for didn’t arrive. Hermione didn’t miraculously wake up from Harry peppering her face with his shy little kisses. She stayed utterly still, her eyes glassy and wide in shock. She looked for all the world like she was carved from stone.

“Harry, we have to move her,” Neville urged, pushing Harry’s shoulder gently. “We have to get help.”

“You go,” Harry replied, his voice muffled where he had burrowed under the bushy curtain of Hermione’s hair. “I’m not leaving her.”

“Okay. Just stay there. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“I’m not moving.”

And he didn’t. Not until ten minutes later when Dumbledore, McGonagall and the Gryffindor Prefects came hurrying around the corner. McGonagall was coordinating the floatation of Colin and Demelza, with Neville clutching at a stitch in his side behind them all.

Dumbledore reached Harry first. He bent down, and with surprising strength, lifted him clear away from Hermione without even asking him to move. Harry went to protest, but then Dumbledore began casting his wand over Hermione’s body. He frowned in his concern.

“What is it?” Harry demanded, kneeling in the water again.

Dumbledore continued spell casting as he replied. “Miss Granger’s condition is far more serious than the others. I feel she may have caught a little of the Stare directly. She is in critical danger. She must reach the Hospital Wing very soon and be placed into stasis before it is too late.”

“Then let’s go!” Harry cried desperately.

“No, we do not have time to walk,” Dumbledore dismissed firmly. “Fawkes!”

There was a flash of fire above them and the resplendent phoenix emerged from the flame. Without another word, Dumbledore place one hand on Hermione’s shoulder, the other on Fawkes’ claw, and all three were whirled away in another gout of light.

* * *

Harry sat with Hermione late into the evening, angrily rebuking any attempt to get him to retire to bed. It didn’t matter what was said to him, about how he could do little to help her now, he steadfastly refused to move. She would have done the same for him - indeed, she already _had_ \- so Harry was determined to be here in case she woke up and needed him.

For she was _going_ to wake up. Harry would do whatever he had to for that to happen.

But he had no idea what that might be. Hermione was utterly unresponsive. Dumbledore had managed to slow the spread of the Basilisk Stare, but it couldn’t be completely stopped without an antidote. And there was no known one in existence. Basilisk Venom was one of the most potent substances in the world, and the evil stare of the monster was equally as lethal.

And though Hermione hadn’t felt the full force of it, the fragment that had hit her would do damage enough. For Harry, the very _worst_ possibility was the final thing that Dumbledore had left with him to consider.

“The Stare hit her in the head,” he had warned lowly. “The first organ it will reach after that is her brain. Miss Granger showed great courage to chase the beast, but it may cost her that wonderful mind of hers.”

Harry didn’t think he could stomach that notion, and he knew full well it was one of Hermione’s worst fears. Losing her mind … the concept terrified her. She’d told him so over their Christmas text message exchanges. But Harry didn’t want to think about _that_ either.

For the mobile phone was now completely ruined. Harry had been able to open it just long enough to see that Hermione had saved his name not just with letters, but with little hearts and kisses all around it. He had no idea she’d done that, and tried to picture her squealing with joy every time the pink hearts and red lips surrounding his name flashed up on her phone screen.

Harry’s own heart practically melted at the idea. But then the phone screen itself _actually_ melted in his hands, sending him back to his melancholia not only at Hermione’s situation, but also at the fact that their text message exchanges - which he had come to love almost as an addiction - seemed now confined to the past.

Harry was stirred from this particular bout of misery when a voice reached his ears from the darkness.

“Still maintaining your vigil, Harry?”

It was Dumbledore, addressing Harry as he strode along the Hospital Wing and took a seat on the other side of Hermione’s bed.

Harry nodded to the question. “I cant leave her, Sir.”

“You care for Miss Granger a great deal, don’t you?” Dumbledore mused.

“Yes, Sir,” Harry confirmed dully. “I didn’t realise quite how much till … till tonight, really, when I thought I might lose her. I wont … will I, Professor?”

“If I could give you a definitive on that, Harry - to ease your anguished mind - I hope you know that I would.”

“But you cant.”

Dumbledore shook his head gravely. “I am afraid I cannot.”

“She wont die, will she?”

“I would think not,” Dumbledore confirmed. “But the damage that could be done may change her life irrevocably. We must do all we can to prevent that.”

“But what can be done!” Harry cried hopelessly. “You said yourself that nothing can be done.”

“Did I say that? I do not recall that I did.”

A seed of hope bloomed in Harry’s chest at Dumbledore’s cryptic tone. “You said that there is no known cure for the Stare of the Basilisk.”

“I did say that,” Dumbledore agreed. “And I was quite correct.”

“Then there is no cure!”

“No _known_ cure, Harry,” Dumbledore corrected patiently.

Harry and Dumbledore looked deeply into the face of the other.

“Sir, I know you like your games and puzzles,” Harry huffed. “But my best … my girl … my _Hermione’s_ life is at stake here. Can we please get to the point?”

“I share your need for hastiness,” Dumbledore agreed. “And not just due to the deteriorating nature of Miss Granger’s condition.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry frowned.

“About thirty minutes ago, the Minister for Magic and a consignment of school Governors arrived, seeking an audience with me. Minerva, bless her, is making sure they fill out all the relevant visitor paperwork - including extra forms to counteract Serious Magical Creature Threat. The process is, shall we say, _lengthy_.”

“And what do they want with you?” Harry queried.

“To remove me from my position as Headmaster, I imagine.”

“What!” Harry thundered. “Why? You are the most powerful wizard around. Who is better equipped to protect us from Slytherin’s Monster?”

Dumbledore looked pointedly around the dark ward, his eyes resting on Hermione, who looked as though she were simply enjoying a good night’s sleep, albeit with one hand locked tenderly in Harry’s.

“It could be argued that I have not done very well in that respect,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “The evidence is scattered all around us.”

“But that’s not _your_ fault!” Harry argued hotly. “You cant be blamed for it.”

“Perhaps, but they need to accuse _someone_ ,” Dumbledore pointed out reasonably. “And rather _me_ than an innocent girl like Miss Granger.”

Harry gasped out loud. “You’re going to take the blame, aren’t you!? But, Sir - you cant!”

“I can, and I will,” Dumbledore disagreed gently. “But despite my act of heroic martyrdom, the problem will not be solved, Harry.”

Harry nodded in comprehension. “Whoever _is_ responsible will still be at large.”

“Precisely, and we _must_ unearth the culprit. Only then can we begin to meditate on possible - maybe _radical_ \- solutions to the problems facing us, Harry.”

“Sir … there is something I didn’t tell you …”

And Harry finally confessed all he knew about the dream diary, Lockhart and Hermione’s possession. Dumbledore listened closely, not interrupting Harry until he had vented all that was on his mind.

“This is all very disturbing,” Dumbledore considered lowly. “And you still _have_ this diary?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Keep it safe, Harry,” Dumbledore urged. “We may yet need it to solve this riddle. But whatever you do, _do not_ write in it. If Lord Voldemort is able to possess every person who does, then we must keep you away from it. You may be the only chance we have now of finding the Chamber and stopping the beast within.”

“Me? How?” Harry asked, stunned. “I don’t know where it is.”

“Perhaps not, but you are now the only person on the side of good who can hear the monster, or who could follow it to wherever it hides out of sight,” Dumbledore explained. “What you need to do, Harry … is to learn how to _talk back_. Maybe then you could learn how to influence the beast for yourself. Or, perhaps, _it_ could tell _you_ how to undo the damage it has caused.”

Movement, at the end of the corridor outside the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore stood up, preparing to flee. Harry saw, for the first time, Fawkes standing ready on the windowsill.

“But, Sir,” Harry complained. “How can I suddenly be expected to speak a language I’ve barely heard, let alone never spoken before?”

Dumbledore looked down kindly at him. The sounds outside the door were closer now. They were voices … and animated ones at that. Dumbledore glanced at them, then back at Harry.

“It wouldn’t be your _first time_ , would it?” Dumbledore hushed knowingly. He stepped close to Fawkes and smoothed his plumage. “Perhaps one type of _serpent_ can help you learn how to speak to another?”

“Ahh!” Harry whispered, his eyes bulging with understanding. “But, Sir -”

Then the doors to the Hospital Wing burst open with a flood of torchlight from the corridor outside. But it wasn’t nearly as bright as the flash of fire from Fawkes. It ignited over near the window, and when it died both the elderly wizard and his phoenix had vanished.


	17. A Will and Away

Harry thundered into the Forbidden Forest faster than he’d ever run before, smashing through the Restriction Wards as his intent was simply that much more powerful. Once inside, he was operating on instinct alone. It was nearly a year since he’d last been in here and he hadn’t paid much mind to the route _then_.

So how he was supposed to find what he was looking for was as much a matter of chance as design.

 _Just keep going deep_. That was the only thought on Harry’s mind. It seemed to take hours last time, but Harry felt certain that he’d simply lost track of time when they were following Hagrid and baby Norbert. He hoped it wouldn’t take anything like as long to reach the heart of the Forest this time. Hermione needed Harry to be quicker, and if that meant defying the constants of space and time then that’s just what he would have to do.

He may not have been sure about how he was going to manage this task, but manage it he did. After about an hour of picking his way through the dark, rutted undergrowth, and having his face whipped sharply by the damp, low-hanging branches of the Forest canopy, Harry stumbled through a poorly-placed thicket of brambles that he hadn’t spotted in the gloom. Swearing like a sailor at the needle-sharp cuts to his hands and arms, Harry picked a thorn from his palm and threw it away angrily.

The light _ping_ which echoed back caused Harry to snap his head around double-quick.

He saw then that he had somehow - quite by accident - found the clearing he’d been looking for. The ping of the thick thorn against the rock face of the cave had alerted Harry to the fact that he’d arrived at his destination. He hurried over to the cavernous entrance and took a look inside. It was as utterly dark as he remembered it.

Harry took a steadying breath, closed his eyes, and made his way inside.

He was immediately conscious of movement not far from the entrance. Again, just like before, it wasn’t so much _sound_ he was picking up on, but a sort of _extra-sensory_ awareness. There was life here, but Harry couldn’t have even begun to explain how he knew that.

Then the life _spoke_ to him. “I wondered when I’d be seeing you again … Harry Potter … the _Serpentborn._ I am only surprised it has taken this long.”

The deep, bass _voice_ , such as it could be described, was not audible sound. It created no echo from the jagged walls of the cave, nor did it hang in Harry’s ears in any way. However it was that Harry was hearing the words, the eighth cranial nerve - which connected his ears to his brain - had nothing to do with it. He had no idea how he was supposed to communicate back … but he sort of _knew_ all the same.

“Serpentborn?” he asked in his mind. “What does that mean?”

“It is the name we give to your kind, the ones blessed with the Gift of Tongues,” came the reply. “The natural affinity to communication beyond language.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry frowned. “Is that how I’m talking to you?”

The hulking form of the male dragon lumbered close out of the darkness. He breathed in, loud and deep, his huge skull flashing in deep indigo a moment as his ice power flared in his nostrils.

“Is it,” the dragon replied. “For as long as there has been magic, there have been those who have sought to use language to control it, to manipulate it. The birds and beasts of the world have always known this, have always been able to communicate across species.

“But you human witches and wizards have forgotten the true power of nature, you've become _lazy_. You have entrusted your nature to tools - wands and staves, gemstones and runes - and that which was once innate now needs to be written down and studied … in _schools_ of magic, such as up at the castle.”

“I’ve not come here to debate the failings of my _species_ ,” Harry rebuffed, crossly. “Or to argue which is better. You said you expected me to come? Why?”

“For there is a dangerous beast roaming your castle, one that our kind have battled with for centuries,” said the dragon. “A creature that only one gifted in the language of the serpents would be able to hear. One whose stare is so fatal that we have had to duel it blind in our history.”

“You’re talking about the basilisk,” Harry breathed in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

“In the same way as _you_ know about _us_ , and are as equally unable to describe.”

“It’s attacked a lot of students,” Harry went on. “Including my best friend, the one I was here with before. She’s hurt and we don’t know how to fix her. The Headmaster of the school suggested that you might be able to help.”

“And how would we do that? We are not an antidote to the basilisk,” the dragon replied.

“I know, but I was hoping you could explain how it is that I can talk to you,” Harry continued. “I think the key to helping my friend is in that. I just don’t know what it is.”

The dragon snorted out a sigh. “What do you know about the stare of the basilisk?”

“It is lethal to look into the eyes of a basilisk,” Harry recited as Hermione would. “It means instant death. But the people who have been attacked at the school have only been Petrified, so there is something else at work, isn’t there?”

“A sensible deduction. One of the failings of your culture is the need to make everything so arbitrary, so focused on a singular effect. Take us dragons, for example. You see the fire we breathe as merely an offensive weapon. What you do _not_ consider is that we use fire for heat to keep us warm, to incubate our young while still unhatched, but also for _play_. We only use fire in the form you know for _self-defence_. It is a life-giving force, one we only use to cause harm when we are left with no other choice.

“So it is with the basilisk. It has a stare that kills wizards, so you stop at that definition. Arbitrary. Though it is that nature which kept _you_ alive.”

“Me? How?” Harry asked.

“We dragons - like all sentient beasts - do not require sticks and talismans to connect to magic, to the Akashic Record - the repository of all knowledge in the universe,” the dragon explained. “We simply _do_. It has helped us know when to fight and when to flee, when to breed and when to find homes anew. We know of your Dark Lord, and what he attempted to do. But he fell into the trap of your species, the need to be arbitrary.

“He _had_ to be the one to kill you, no-one else. He focused solely on the belief in his own importance and not the end goal. He could have sent any of his footsoldiers to do the job. But no, _he_ had to do it, arrogantly ignoring the words of a prophecy he helped _fulfil_ , simply by getting involved and choosing you to be his equal. He could not look beyond the most basic definition of that with which he was dealing.”

“And how is this the same as with the basilisk?”

“In your culture, there is a saying … _a look could mean a thousand words_. Never is this more true than with the basilisk. You know the Stare kills, but you do not know how it works, because your kind have never bothered to find out. And due to that ignorance, you have failed to understand that the Stare can do so much more, so long as the basilisk _wants_ it to.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “So, what … are you saying the Stare is like … a _language?_ ”

“You show great insight for one so young,” said the dragon. “Yes, you are right. And within this language is inherently bound the power to order, to instruct, to hurt … and to _heal_.”

“You’re saying the Stare is like a _spell_ ,” Harry mused breathlessly. “And if I could learn the language, I might be able to perform the _counter-spell_! But how? I don’t have the time to learn a new language. My friend needs my help _now_. Please? Is there no quicker way?”

“You are a wizard, so of course there is a quicker way,” the dragon replied somewhat sarcastically. “Remember, I said the natural ways are long and arduous, can take a lifetime and even then mastery is not guaranteed. The first of your kind, who came to understand our language and other arcane arts, wrote down what they had learned, so they could refer to it again when they forgot that knowledge. If you find those writings, you will have your answer.”

Harry frowned. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t a book I’ll find in the Hogwarts library?”

“For you will not. It is a single tome of untold power, kept at the place where magic and consciousness first entered the world. We beasts of nature have always known of it, but humans have contrived elaborate ways to make themselves forget.”

“Where is it?” Harry demanded. He was ready to head there right now, but he was to be disappointed.

“This we no longer know,” the dragon replied ruefully. “The exact location has been newly hidden even from us, and we can only assume for nefarious means. We still remember the name of the place, however … _High Brasil_.”

“High Brasil,” Harry parroted. “And you have no idea where this place might be?”

“None. But if you locate it, and find the _Book of Dust_ protected there, then you will able to help your friend.”

 _Dust?_ Harry considered in awestruck shock. It _couldn’t_ be, could it? There was only one way to find out … and he couldn’t do this alone. He needed help. Specifically, he needed -

* * *

“Lyra! Take me to Lyra!”

James Potter was still getting over the shock of seeing his son tumble out of the fireplace at their London flat, when the demand reached his ears. He wasn’t sure what to do first, reprimand Harry or answer his question. But Harry’s restless imperative made up his mind for him.

“Come on, Dad! Get up!” Harry implored passionately. “You need to take me to Lyra, right now!”

Harry went as far as taking a fistful of James’ jumper and tugging him to his feet. James finally screwed his head on as he stood upright.

“Harry, wait! What’s this all about?”

“I have to help Hermione!” Harry yelped desperately. “I have to find Lyra, and the Book of Dust. I have to get to High Brasil. And we have to go _now_.”

James stopped and gripped Harry, turning him bodily to look seriously into his face.

“Who told you about High Brasil?”

Harry blinked in surprise at his father’s fierce expression, but he held firm. “A _dragon_ told me. What do _you_ know about it?”

“Not much, but I agree that we should go to see Lyra,” James replied.

“Why?”

“Because, that’s why _Malcolm_ left this world,” James explained. “Their Magisterium had found a special site in the Antarctica of their world … and they called that place _High Brasil_. I cant imagine that they aren’t connected. Come on.”

“Wait? Where’s Mum?” Harry asked.

“Sleeping, and far too pregnant for potentially risky field missions,” James grinned, his eyes flashing bright with the spark of adventure. “Are you ready for a bit of Apparition?”

Harry ground his teeth. “I hate Apparition!”

“Lyra’s flat isn’t on the Floo Network,” James explained. “But we could always take the bus …”

“Just get it over with,” Harry scowled.

James smirked at his boy, took his arm firmly and whipped him away in a swirl of wind and colour. A moment later they were standing in Lyra’s flat. She jumped and cried out in shock at their sudden arrival, drawing Sirius from the bathroom with his wand drawn.

“James, you moron! What the hell are you doing?” Sirius shrieked.

“What are _you_ doing?” James smirked. He pointed at Sirius, who was dressed only in a fluffy pink towel. With kittens on. He was naked to the waist and had fluffy slippers to match his towel. Harry had to bite back a laugh at the sight.

“I was just getting out of the shower,” Sirius returned, unabashed. “Now what’s _your_ excuse? We were just about to leave.”

“Leave? To go where?” James asked.

“Hogwarts,” Lyra cut in. “Dumbledore came to tell us about Hermione. Harry … tell me she’s alright.”

“No, she’s not,” Harry volleyed back dramatically. “She was hit with the partial stare of a Basilisk, and if we don’t hurry it will _rot_ her mind! We have to stop it!”

Lyra collapsed into a chair, clutching at her heart. Sirius growled and moved to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Tell us how, Harry,” Sirius encouraged.

“By getting to High Brasil,” Harry announced quietly. He waited for the stunned expressions from Lyra and Sirius to subside before continuing. “There’s something I have to find there … a Book of _Dust_. It _has_ to be the sort of Dust that Hermione always talks about. Lyra … what _is_ it? Hermione said you were an expert on the stuff.”

“Try not to think of it as _stuff,”_ Lyra replied. “Dust is a conscious form of energy, one that infuses all things that live and anything crafted by living hands. As long as humans have been sentient and blessed with consciousness, there has been Dust. I discovered, long ago, that it is the root power of magic in my world … and I’d be amazed if it wasn’t the same for your magic in _this_ world, too.”

“And what about High Brasil? What did Malcolm say about that?” James pressed.

“Not much. Only that the Magisterium had found a place in the Southern Arctic - our version of your Antarctica - where Dust was flowing through a portal to another place.”

“Like the one in the North?” Sirius asked.

Lyra shook her head. “No. Try to understand, all of you … when I was a girl there were literally hundreds - thousands, even - of these portals around the world. They had been cut using an instrument called _The Subtle Knife_ \- made by a Guild of Philosophers in a transient world. They had been made with good intentions - to bring knowledge and enlightenment to other worlds.

“But, as with the nature of man, there were those who _abused_ it. They stole knowledge, lined their pockets with wealth and trinkets. And they were punished for their greed and avarice.”

“How?” Harry pushed.

“Because they didn’t close the windows they made into other worlds,” Lyra explained. “And Dust flowed right out of them. Unbound, it lost its light and beauty, becoming dark and malevolent. It returned to punish humanity … in the form of evil and sin, repression and bondage, most often using religion and the ensuing social systems that were born from it. But it also took a physical form that _consumed_ all those things that make us human … essentially, The Spectres - as we called them - ate the souls of man.

“My first great adventure in life was to find The Subtle Knife with my friend, Will, and together we closed those windows. We had to, we had no choice … even though it meant separating forever just when we’d found love with each other. We also went into the World of the Dead and brought an end to Destiny itself … but I don’t want to brag about my achievements!”

“But that portal in the North?” James queried. “Isn’t that allowing Dust to flow out still?”

“No,” Lyra corrected. “Remember, The Subtle Knife was simply a piece of esoteric technology, and a fairly base one at that. Apply modern science to it and advancements can be made. The Magisterium used human sacrifice that placated the Dark Forces of our world, and Dust could not pass through. The portal Mal built used a willing human _Separation_ … but Sirius will know more about it than I do … as _he_ was the one that they used.”

Sirius looked down at her in amusement. “I never knew that you _knew!_ ”

“I was the Head of Experimental Theology at Jordan College!” Lyra scoffed. “Nothing of that nature which happened in my world could have escaped my attention. Not only that, but Charlotte Dubios told me all about it. I never did bite you for taking her as your lover, did I?”

Lyra made a playful attempt to take a chunk out of Sirius' thigh with her mouth, where he had sat on the arm of her chair, but Sirius just barked out a laugh. “I wouldn’t be jealous. Charlie wasn’t a patch on you. But I’m weak against those sexy French accents.”

“Can we stay on topic here!” Harry cried. “Enough about your love life!”

“No, let’s focus on _yours_ ,” Sirius teased. Harry reddened but stared resolutely back. “So, can we assume that this _High Brasil_ that Mal is looking for in your world is the same place that Dust is flowing to here?”

“What even is it?” James asked, as Lyra nodded her agreement.

“The source of all magic and consciousness in the world,” Harry announced expertly. “It flows from there to all natural things, but witches and wizards can only use it by crafting wands and other tools, and Muggles have forgotten it completely. Or been made to forget by some malevolent force. Like your Magisterium and Spectres, Miss Lyra.”

“How do you know all that?” Lyra quirked, impressed.

“A dragon told me,” Harry returned breezily, as if talking to wild magical creatures was standard for them all. “They just don’t know how to find it.”

“Spectres sound a lot like Dementors, don’t they, James?” Sirius suggested worryingly. “If we’re going after them, perhaps we need to arm your little wizard, there, before we set off.”

Sirius nodded down at Harry, who opened his mouth in surprise.

“There’s a spell to use against Dementors?” Harry breathed. He had always been a little afraid of these wraith-like demons ever since his mother had first mentioned them to him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because it’s extremely advanced magic,” James explained. “And many wizards are never able to use it. They just aren’t powerful enough. I doubt you’ll be able to for a few years yet.”

“What’s the spell?” Harry demanded.

“The incantation is _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Sirius took over. “And to power it, you need to pull up the strongest image of happiness and goodness you can, to counteract the darkness of the Dementors. You pick a happy memory and try to project it through your wand using the spell words. If it works, a silvery _Patronus_ will emerge and drive off the Dementors.”

“Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum …” Harry repeated. He did it seven times so that he wouldn’t forget, a habit he’d inherited from his mother when he was a small boy.

“This is all very well, but how are we even going to _find_ High Brasil?” James asked fairly. “If it’s being hidden, how do we uncover it?”

“You leave that to me,” Lyra replied resolutely. “If there is something from my world being hidden here, you can bet the Magisterium has their hand behind it somehow."

"So, how will you _force their hand_ , so to speak?"

"I’ll find Will … and make him _show_ me the way,” Lyra growled fiercely. At her side, Pantalaimon bristled in agreement.

“And if he doesn’t?” Sirius asked.

Lyra ground her jaw. “Oh, he _will._ If I find that his treachery has in any way contributed to my Hermione getting hurt, I’ll make his life _and_ his eternal after life a living _hell_! Trust me, he’ll do exactly what I tell him, if he knows what’s good for him.”

* * *

Capturing Will Parry was the work of barely a moment. With Albus Dumbledore recruited, abducting a Muggle from under the noses of his armed protectorate was easy. Dumbledore was comfortably loose with his morality in the kidnapping, delivering Will to the waiting party and offering little explanation as to how he did it, or any collateral casualties. His benign smile was all he would give them in response to their questions.

“Leave me with him,” Lyra ordered, as they looked at Will through a darkened window.

“No, he could be dangerous,” Sirius argued. “I’m coming in with you.”

“That’s sweet, but I can take care of myself,” Lyra quirked. “Will is tied up by _magic_ , so I’m quite safe. Besides, he was the first boy to fall under my power … and he fell the furthest and hardest. I can handle this alone.”

And then she stepped into the makeshift interrogation room without brooking another word of protest.

Will looked up in shock as he saw her. “Lyra? What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“I’ll ask the questions, my dear Will,” Lyra began smoothly. “And your answers will determine how nice I am to you, and whether or not I’ll let you join us, once we purge you of this darkness that you carry.”

Behind the glass, Sirius turned to Dumbledore. “What’s she doing?”

“Recruiting us a powerful ally, by the looks of things,” Dumbledore smiled back. “I suggest we let her work.”

“Join you?” Will was asking, incredulously. “Why would I -”

“Because you have _crossed the line_ , Will!” Lyra yelled, gripping the arms of his chair and thrusting her face close to his. “You’ve threatened my _daughter_! And if you don’t help me save her, you wont leave this room alive! Do you understand that? A part of me will always love you, Will, but don’t think I wont hurt you for what you’ve done.”

“D-daughter?” Will stuttered. “What? I … I never … _when_?”

Lyra stepped away and took a series of heaving breaths. “Never you mind. Just know that you’ve threatened the most important person in my life. You know me well enough to know how stupid that was of you. I know one day I’ll kill for that girl … I’d just rather that day not be _this_ day.”

“Are you talking about that girl you travel with? She cant be your daughter. We know her parents.”

“She is mine in everything but blood,” Lyra stabbed acridly. “I could never wish for a better daughter or love the fruit of my own womb more. If she’d take me, I’d adopt her tomorrow. But, as you say, you _know_ her parents. But you failed to kill them, Will. I know it was you who directed Tom Riddle to them in my world.”

A lesser man than Will Parry would have baulked under the ferociousness of Lyra’s look just then, but he held his courage.

“What do you want, Lyra?”

“I want you to explain,” Lyra replied. “ _Properly_ explain. What _happened_ to you, Will?”

“Who are you asking for? You … or that wizard boyfriend of yours behind the glass?” Will scowled back.

“Both,” Lyra fired at him. “You’ll explain to us all. What made you turn against all you once stood for?”

“How can you even ask me that?” Will howled angrily. “You know full well the reason … it was _you_.”

“What did I do?” Lyra asked, genuinely surprised by Will’s passion.

“You _left_ me!” Will cried, angrily. “You showed me the deepest love I will ever feel and then you just left me!”

“Will …” Lyra began, rather gently. “You know I had no choice. _We_ had no choice. Those windows _had_ to be closed. Dust -”

“Brought us together, and we fell in love _defying_ the rules, Lyra! They didn’t apply to us. Nobody ever left the World of the Dead, the Boatman told us that. But _we_ did. Nobody could cross worlds … but _we_ did. We were _special_ , Lyra! We _had_ something special. We weren’t like other people, other couples. Why shouldn’t we have left just one window open? Much less Dust would have flown out with just one window left. I could have spent time in your world, and then you could have come back to mine.

“After all that effort to _change_ everything, you went right back to playing by the rules. And you broke my heart in the process.”

“Is _that_ what this is all about?” Lyra cried. “You and your heart? Will … we were _twelve._ Who knows if this dream we had would have survived all that time, all the changes we’d have gone through growing up. And besides, you know we will be together again, when we leave the World of the Dead together and return to Dust. We made a promise.”

“It wasn’t enough for me,” Will volleyed back. “I wanted _you_. I tried to love again … I even married and had a son … but it was never enough. I lurched from one failed relationship to another, leaving my own trail of broken hearts in my wake. Then, one day, I decided I’d had enough. I was going to find a way to get back to you, make everything as it should be.”

“So you went to the Magisterium?”

“Not at first,” Will explained. “I was recruited by the British Secret Intelligence Service. They could find a use for someone like me, someone skilled at _not being seen_. When the Magisterium came to _me_ , I didn’t realise it was them at first. But my name triggered something with MI5. My father, it turns out, left quite the legacy.”

“He’d be ashamed of you, for what you’re doing,” Lyra sniped coldly.

Will swallowed and closed his eyes. “I know. But you don’t know what it’s been like … how _hard_ it was ... being on my own ... being without _you._ ”

“Of course I do!” Lyra cried, kneeling at his feet. “Don’t you think I was exactly the same? But I accepted it, allowed myself to love again. You can love more than one person in your life, Will. It’s allowed. It may not be the same, in fact it probably _has_ to be different by its very definition, but you can do it. That isn’t an excuse for what you’ve become. What happened to that brave, sweet boy I fell in love with in the land of the _mulefa_? Is he still under there somewhere? I hope he is, because we need him now.”

Will looked up at Lyra, locked eyes with her. The intensity of the love burning between them took Harry’s breath away as he watched. Even in their anger with each other, their passion throbbed as strongly as the day they’d first kissed. Harry could tell that. He lost his mind a little as he watched, not just because of the display between them … but also because he was secure in the knowledge that Hermione looked at _him_ in just that way.

And Harry knew that he looked at her just the same.

It was the most monumental piece of understanding Harry Potter had ever had. It was life shattering. It shifted the poles of his world, redefined the edges of his emotional map. This terrifying new feeling, that had been creeping up on him so slowly, was one that he’d never encountered before. It was like an undiscovered country, one never seen in his entire life, but one he was eager to explore further.

Only he _had_ seen it before. It was right before his eyes, in the connection between Lyra and Will, and Harry had grown up saturated by it around his mother and father. The comparisons left him breathless, speechless too, had he needed to speak. Harry was glad that this was a time to be silent, because he was too shaken to be an active member of the world just now.

“I … I can’t help you, Lyra,” Will replied lowly, almost apologetically. “I’m committed to my role.”

“Weren’t you just saying about not playing by the rules?” Lyra smiled. “Will … this isn’t _you_. I know it isn’t. You were everything that was good and smart and brave. Being part of a cowardly _gang_ isn’t the Will Parry I loved. You can change you stars, Will. What would _Kirjava_ say?”

Will’s eyes popped wide. Harry took a stabbing guess that Kirjava was Will’s dæmon. Little else could have produced such a deep response as this. Like Sirius, Harry reasoned, he must have met his own soul somewhere on his journey with Lyra. Harry was beginning to understand, more and more, that Hermione’s Mistress was a truly remarkable woman.

“I … I … Lyra … I can’t …”

“You _can_ ,” Lyra cajoled, softly. She took his hands in her own. “If you want to. Help us, Will. Turn on _them_. Be one of the good guys again. Make your Mum proud. Make _me_ proud, Will.”

And just like that, Will Parry’s resistance was broken. Harry saw shades of himself in the capitulation … only with Hermione asking something of _him_. He knew he was equally as powerless against his own lifelong lo -

Harry bit his tongue to check himself. He’d almost thought a _very_ dangerous word. He couldn’t get his mind around the idea yet … and he definitely wasn’t brave enough to let _that_ notion into his raw and battered consciousness without some extensive soul-searching.

“Okay, Lyra. You win,” Will mumbled. “I’m yours … not that I was ever anything else.”

Will smiled warmly for the first time, and Harry saw a glimpse of the man Lyra had been alluding to peek out from this emotionally wounded shell. That made Harry flick his eyes up to Sirius, who was watching proceedings with an inscrutable expression. Harry didn’t have the adult vocabulary with which to read it.

But he knew one thing for sure … this was going to get messy!

“What do you need from me?” Will went on.

“We need to get to High Brasil, Will,” Lyra explained. “Can you help us?”

Will nodded. “I can do better than that … I can _take you there._ But I hope you have an army of wizards behind that glass. High Brasil is the most dangerous and highly defended island in _any_ world. And that’s before you even reach the land.”

“Why? What’s on the land?”

Will looked at her with a shrewd expression. “Have you ever heard of the _Tuatha De Danaan_?”


	18. High Brasil

“The _two Arthur_ _what_?” Harry asked.

“The Tuatha De Danaan,” Will explained for the third time. “Also known as _The Shining Ones_. The tribe first blessed by Dust, it is they who brought magic and consciousness into the world, taught art and science, built great monuments and generally formed the foundation of much of our modern culture. Now, they are the guardians of that Sacred Knowledge, the gatekeepers of its dissemination across all universes here on Earth.”

Harry swallowed hard. “And _they_ are the ones I have to get past in order to find the Book of Dust?”

“No, young Mr Potter,” Will corrected. “They are the ones who _wrote_ it. Without their permission, you wont even be able to read the words. Getting past them wont be your greatest challenge … getting them _onside_ is a far bigger dilemma.”

Harry looked out of the window of the coastguard’s boat as he contemplated this new task. Will brought the engine to an idling state as they cruised through the water. High Brasil was located approximately two hundred and twelve miles into the Atlantic off the West coast of Ireland, but the perimeter ring was at least two miles from the island itself. They were just about skirting that border now.

“This is as close as we can get,” Will announced to James as he too peered out across the great expanse of water. “It’s too dangerous to go in _conventionally_ from here.”

“Can we Apparate in?” Harry asked his father.

James shook his head. “In order to Apparate you need to have a very clear location in your mind of the place you want to go. If we cant even _see_ this place then that route is out. In any case, we don’t know what we would be Apparating _through_. It’s foolish to go in so unprepared.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Harry yelped desperately.

“We just have to find the door,” Will smiled comfortingly. “And fortunately, I have just the tool for the job.”

He reached down into a rucksack at his feet, and drew out a sheet of some sort of golden resin.

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“This is the _Amber Spyglass_ ,” Will replied. “It once belonged to a good friend of mine, a scientist called Mary Malone.”

“What does it do?”

“It allows us to see _Dust_ ,” Will explained. “It’s normally invisible to the human eye, but with _this_ we will be able to see it.”

“And that will show us how to reach High Brasil?” Harry asked dubiously. “How?”

“Remember, Mr Potter, that Dust originated at High Brasil and from there it flows around the planet, through an interconnected web of energetic lines. We call it the _World Grid._ It includes ley lines, great monuments - especially pyramids and standing stone monoliths - which are built over vortexes, and is almost certainly the power source for your magic. Indeed, as a shaman, myself, I have learned to harness the energy to produce what you might consider magical effects. Yet I am no wizard and have no wand.”

“Wow. What can you do?” Harry asked, fascinated.

“A little of this and a little of that,” Will smiled evasively. “Perhaps one day, when we know each other better, we can discuss this further. For now, the only useful thing I have learned to do is to be able to see Dust, using the Amber Spyglass.”

“You still haven’t said how you will do that,” Harry pointed out.

“It is relatively simple,” Will replied. “All we have to do is circle the perimeter of High Brasil whilst looking through the Spyglass, but we will need to use one of the dinghies for that. Dust will be flowing out at some point on the border, it just always changes location. From there we will have our entrance point.

“That’s when the hard part begins.”

“Harry, go and fetch Sirius and Lyra,” James instructed. “Will and I will load the dinghy.”

Harry nodded and hurried off. He found Sirius and Lyra at the far end of the boat, huddled close together and talking rapidly. Harry slowed down and crept up cautiously as he reached them.

“Look, you know my history, _including_ the part about Will,” Lyra was saying firmly, but in a gentle tone.

“Yeah, but I thought that was in the _past_ ,” Sirius argued back. “But now … I don’t know what to think.”

Lyra stepped close and placed her hand tenderly to Sirius’ cheek. “Then I’ll _tell_ you what to think. You have to accept that Will and I have both a past _and_ a future, that has always been the case. But that future wont start until we are both long dead! Until then, I’m _yours_ … if you still want me.”

“Of course I still want you!” Sirius rebuked hotly. “I know that you and Will have this destiny together in the future … I just need to know I have your heart in the here and now.”

Lyra sighed and smiled at Sirius. She looked almost amused at his insecurities. Then she stepped back and looked up at the sky. Harry watched her line of sight. There didn’t seem to be anything there, until a pair of powerful, coal-black wings came into view and soared towards the boat. Harry watched in jaw dropping amazement as Pantalaimon flew around Lyra a moment … then came to rest on _Sirius’_ shoulder, before nuzzling at his cheek.

Harry, watching from behind a lifeboat, couldn’t help but gasp. Lyra had let Sirius _touch her d_ _æmon_! In fact, _she_ had initiated it! Harry could barely stand to watch, knowing full well just how intimate an act this was. Oddly, seeing this display brought slamming home to him all the hidden meanings of his own contact with Hermione’s dæmon _._

And Sirius seemed to understand how monumental an act this was, too. He simply stared at Pan perched on his shoulder, his own expression utterly stunned. It was all the validation he needed, and Lyra didn’t even have to say a word.

So she said one to Harry, instead.

“You can stop hiding now.”

Harry stepped sheepishly out from behind the lifeboat, wringing his hands guiltily. “Sorry. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“It’s fine,” Lyra smiled. “Your Godfather and I were just clearing some things up. What do you need us for?”

“Will says we have to travel on in one of the life dinghies,” Harry explained. “We’re ready to leave now.”

“Then lead on,” Sirius chuckled.

So Harry did. Soon all five of them were being lowered down in the big orange lifeboat. Will gunned the engine to life and they sped off. Lyra was bestowed with the duty of using the Amber Spyglass, as it was reasonably assumed that she'd be the most likely person to spot Dust in the atmosphere.

“I cant _believe_ you still have this!” she exclaimed to Will, pinning her eye to the sheet of amber. “You kept it all this time?”

“Mary kept it,” Will corrected. “And when she died, she left it to me. This is the only use I’ve ever found for it, to be honest. Keep your eyes sharp. The Dust Stream might be very faint.”

It took over an hour for them to find what they were looking for. Lyra yelped in shock as it first came into view, then she showed it to Harry as Will guided the lifeboat closer. It looked like the sort of beam of light that might come from a movie projector, only made up of millions of tiny particles. Harry watched them ebb and flow in drunken fascination.

“So _that’s_ Dust!” he whispered lowly. “It actually _looks_ like dust. Normal dust, I mean.”

Lyra laughed gently. “Yes, I suppose it does. That’s where it gets the name from in my world. Here they call it _Dark Matter_ , or _God Particles_ , among other names. But I prefer Dust … doesn’t sound quite so sinister, does it?”

Harry nodded in agreement. The lifeboat moved ever closer to that stream in the sky, and when they reached the point where it originated, Will brought them to a stop and turned seriously to the others.

“Ready?”

Lyra replied for them all. “We are. But how will we get through?”

Swallowing like a guilty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Will reached inside his jacket and took out a long, slender knife. One side was sharp and shiny, the other more dull but radiating with mystical power that Harry could feel from across the boat. Harry had a dozen questions he wanted to ask about that energy, but the look of anger on Lyra’s face held his tongue.

“Will! You _didn’t_!” she hissed. “You cant … you shouldn’t … you _remade_ the Subtle Knife?”

Will closed his eyes. “I had to. At first I was fine with having broken it, but it chose _me_ as the Bearer, Lyra. Dust chose me. And that bond is for life. I was miserable until I reforged it, with the help of some metallurgists in the fire-pits of Siberia.”

“And did you ever _use_ it?” Lyra demanded fiercely.

Will shook his head. “No. I still _can_ , but every time I felt a cut in the air I heard your voice in my head, telling me off. So I kept the knife … but I’ve never used it since we closed that window in Oxford.”

Lyra huffed suspiciously. She wasn’t sure if she believed Will or not, but she would have to put that aside for now.

“Can you open a window now?” Lyra asked.

“Yes.”

“Explain something to me first,” Lyra insisted firmly, giving in to her paranoia. “How do you know about High Brasil, if you’ve never cut a window to go there?”

“The Magisterium knows about it,” Will countered. “And the parallel organisations here do, too. They guard the location and its purpose. It is the method they use to communicate between worlds. Messages carried by Dust. I have been here before to act as a Receiver. That’s one of my hidden skills, Mr Potter.”

Harry blinked at him. “You can communicate between _worlds_?”

“I can, and I am not the only one,” Will replied, darkly. “Your friend, Thomas Riddle, is able to project his very _essence_ along the Dust conduits. Only for short periods, but I understand this is a unique magical skill that he has developed with the help of the Magisterium in Lyra’s world. One can only guess why he might want to do _that_.”

“Tom Riddle is no friend of ours,” James volleyed back firmly. “Now, shall we proceed?”

Will looked to Lyra as if for permission. She scowled slightly, before giving a curt little nod. Harry watched in astonishment as Will placed the Subtle Knife into the air at a point only he could see, breathed deeply with closed eyes, then simply _sliced_ a way into another world.

“Cool!” Harry breathed, deeply impressed.

Will grinned at him, and eased the lifeboat through the window he’d created. Then he immediately stopped.

“Merlin’s Beard!” Sirius exclaimed in shock. “Look at _that_!”

“There must be hundreds of them, thousands, even,” Lyra hissed. “We’ll never get through.”

Harry, who had been trying to wrap his mind around the fact that they were now facing a lush green land with gorgeous trees and forests instead of the endless ocean, looked up at the sky. Blinking in shock at what he thought were low-lying thunder clouds, he suddenly realised that they were shifting and moving almost at random. That was when he realised it wasn’t a cloud that he was looking at at all.

“Spectres!” Lyra hushed in low horror.

“And Dementors!” James added in a similar echoey tone. “I’ve never seen so many in one place before.”

“There is no way through that,” Lyra insisted. “We’ll never make it.”

“What do Spectres _do_ , again?” Harry asked.

“They feed on the souls of adults,” Will explained. “They _consume_ Dust, and after adolescence we are resplendent in it. They fear the Subtle Knife - as it is one of the few things in existence that can harm them - but with this many … I fear even the Knife will not be enough.”

“And it would take the Patronus of all Patronuses to drive away that many Dementors,” Sirius chipped in. “You’d have to redefine the boundaries of magic to conjure something like that.”

“Then that’s what I’ll have to do,” Harry told them in a small voice. “Because I _am_ getting onto that island, no matter what it takes.”

“Harry, you cant,” James told him firmly. “It is far too dangerous.”

“I didn’t come all this way for nothing!” Harry yelled at his father. “And I’m not going home until I get what I came here for. You said the Spectres only go for adults, so that takes out half of the guardians. And I’ll just have to take my chances with the Dementors.”

“We can draw as many of them away as we can,” Sirius told James. “Give Harry his shot.”

“Paddy - I am _not_ letting my boy go onto that island alone!” James volleyed back. “Out of the question.”

“Harry will not be alone. I will accompany him on this task.”

All five occupants of the lifeboat turned in shock to address the voice that had spoken from behind them. Harry nearly fell into the water in his surprise to see a _sixth_ person sat there.

It was Lyra who broke the stunned silence.

“Serafina Pekkala! What are you doing here?”

“Ensuring that one of my destinies is allowed to continue,” the beautiful witch replied. “Harry must save Hermione. And if the solution lies on that island then I will do everything in my power to see it done.”

“What do you know about it?” Harry asked suspiciously. “What destiny are you talking about?”

“The very one that brought Hermione to this world in the first place,” Serafina replied softly. “The one that brought her to _you_.”

“ _You_ are involved with that?” Lyra asked in disbelief. “How?”

“When I was a young girl, my mother told me that I had many destinies ahead of me,” Serafina began. “One involved _you_ , Lyra. And another involved my … _great-granddaughter_ … and her own adventure in another world.”

Harry gasped in shock. “Hermione is your great-granddaughter?”

Serafina smiled and nodded. “We witches live to great ages. I took a lover many years ago and together we had a son, but to be a witch is to lead a solitary life. I left my child in a basket on the doorstep of my former lover. I watched over him from afar for his entire life, watching his own family develop until they produced a daughter, the one I knew I would have to help in her own special destiny.”

“Does Hermione know?” Harry asked.

“No. And I would prefer it to stay that way, until the time is right for it to be revealed to her,” Serafina replied. “I offer you my assistance now in exchange for your complicity in keeping this secret.”

Harry shook his head. “I cant keep a secret like that, not from Hermione.”

“Dont worry, we have a good Memory Charm that will make you forget all about this,” Sirius grinned. “Just don’t tell your mother. She might garotte me if she knew I was spelling you!”

Harry waged a fierce war in his mind. He desperately needed the help of this witch, and he supposed if he didn’t _know_ about her secret identity, he wasn’t _technically_ keeping the information from Hermione. It was dubious, but in the end Harry accepted the terms.

“Okay, alright. I’ll do it,” Harry began. “But I’m not happy that there’s this huge part of Hermione’s life that she doesn’t know about. Is that why she’s the best person ever in terms of magic? Because she gets it from you?”

“The link would certainly help her adroitness to magic, yes,” Serafina mused. “But much of her talent is her own. She’s a very special girl.”

“You don’t need to tell _me_ that,” Harry grinned shyly. “So … what do we do next?”

“Hey, I haven’t agreed to let _you_ do anything, young man!” James piped up. “And nor am I likely to.”

“Dad … I _have_ do do this,” Harry implored, crossing the boat to his father. “I have to help Hermione. And Serafina will look after me. Right?”

“If by my life or death I can protect you, I will,” Serafina replied with a graceful nod.

“See?” Harry went on. “I’ll be alright. Please, Dad … I need your help to do this. I cant reach the land without you.”

James took a heaving breath and looked up Serafina. “You’ll take care of my boy?”

“I will, with every scrap power I possess ... and I possess many scraps.”

“Very well,” James conceded. He reached into his jacket and drew his wand. Then he turned to Harry. “You remember the incantation?”

Harry took out his own wand and nodded. “Expecto Patronum.”

“And do you have a happy memory to power the spell?” James asked.

“I have _two_ ,” Harry grinned. “But I’m not telling you what they are because you’ll tease me about them for the rest of my life!”

James laughed deeply and drew Harry into a bone-shattering hug. “No unnecessary risks, okay? You find this tribe, get them to show you the Book, then you get right out of there, clear?”

“Clear, Dad,” Harry swore faithfully.

“Alright, let’s do this. Will - head right for the pack. We’ll draw them off. As soon as we get as close as we can, Serafina can take Harry to the island. Er … how _will_ you do that?”

Serafina Pekkala smiled at him. “In my world, Mr Potter, we witches don’t need broomsticks to _fly_. You leave that part to me.”

James and Serafina exchanged accepting nods, then Will kicked the engine of the boat to life once more. They sped towards the mass of dark greys and black that was the swarm above the island. Once they were half a mile from the shore, the Spectres and Dementors became aware of them. With an air-splitting screech of a thousand shrill voices, the mass turned and shot directly at them.

Will waited and waited until they could linger no more. “Go, Serafina!”

And she did, whipping Harry away at lightening speed. He couldn’t believe how swiftly the witch could move. With him under one arm, she darted like a bullet from Spectre to Spectre, slashing and stabbing at them with her knife of cloud-iron. The Spectres shrieked and screamed as they fell, puffing out of existence before they hit the water.

But they weren’t interested in the dæmon-less witch and the boy who they could not harm. They darted off in pursuit of the lifeboat, which Will had swung around and was speeding away towards the horizon. A surge of the Dementors had gone too, taking their miserable air with them. Harry watched as silvery shapes emerged from what he knew were the wands of his father and Sirius, scattering the Dementors as they closed in on the boat.

“Harry!”

He turned in time to see a flock of about fifty Dementors blocking their flight path ahead.

“The depression,” Serafina moaned, as the effet of the creatures flowed around her heart. “They are draining the very _hope_ from me … I cant ... I cant ... my very will to live is leaving me ...”

And her magical power seemed to be going with it, too. She and Harry were slowing and falling steeply, as if being in an airship with a puncture. Harry summoned his courage, and pulled one of his happy memories to the front of his mind. It was a simple image … his name surrounded by a ring of hearts on Hermione’s phone … he let the warm emotion it stirred flow through him, from his chest right to the fingers of his right hand.

Then he raised his wand …

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

Harry watched in astonishment as the sharp, powerful antlers of a huge _stag_ erupted from the end of his wand and charged at the Dementors. They shrieked like golems and scattered in all directions. Harry found he was able to control the stag, targeting it at rogue Dementors who were lagging away from the larger groups.

Soon, a direct route to the shore had opened up. “Serafina! We can make it!”

The sight of the white sand galvanised the witch. Clutching Harry tighter still, she gunned them forwards through the gap faster than she’d flown before, as Harry used his Patronus to hold the Dementors at arm's length. Within ten seconds they were slamming into the shifting surface of the sandy shore. The Dementors seemed to know they were outmatched, so turned to leave Harry and Serafina behind and headed back towards the larger flock.

“I hope the others are okay,” Harry breathed as he watched the retreating wraiths.

“Are _you_ okay?” Serafina asked. “You look very pale and clammy.”

“It was the Dementors,” Harry reasoned. “Did you feel that? Like you’d never be happy again?”

Serafina nodded. “And I hope never to feel it again. But come, we must get off the beach. These cliffs could be crawling with ghasts.”

“Ghasts?”

“Feral creatures who feed on unwary travellers,” Serafina replied darkly. “We must be cautious. Come along.”

Serafina led Harry away from the shore. They were in a tropical sort of area; the white sands stretched away from them in an arc in both directions, the beach was lined with an avenue of palm trees that were swaying in the light breeze. Beyond the treeline stood an imposing range of sheer, brown cliffs and the horizon was invisible behind rolling green hills and mountains. Harry saw a splash of blue that may have been from a waterfall, and the late afternoon sun was hanging low in the sky, dappling it all in soft, golden light.

All in all, it was a paradise on Earth. Harry couldn’t believe that there were any of the dangers lurking here that he was warned about.

They walked for hours through a changing landscape. The heat and beauty of the beach gave way to the ruggedness of the hills, the sandy shore becoming the detritus of a forest floor. And then, almost out of nowhere, the rain came. It fell incessantly, first in straight lines and then directly into their faces. The forest path became a slurry of sludge and several times Harry lost his footing and fell, cursing, into the deep puddles of sticky, smelly mud.

“We have to get out of this downpour,” Serafina called through the howling sheets of rain. “We passed a cave back there. Let’s head for that.”

“I don’t want to go backwards,” Harry fired back.

“We may have to take a step back in order to take two forwards,” Serafina replied. “I don’t believe this rain is natural. We need to assess our situation. In any case, if you don’t get dry you’ll freeze to death. I do not feel the cold, but you _do_.”

This Harry could see. Serafina was dressed only in ragged scraps of black silk and, for all the glamorous she looked, the weather didn’t seem to be affecting her. Whereas the driving rain and icy winds were causing Harry’s bones to rattle under his skin.

“Okay,” he agreed reluctantly.

They backtracked for ten minutes until they found the cave Serafina had spotted. It was more of an opening in the rock face than anything, but it would shield them from the elements, so long as the rain didn’t have a sudden change of heart and shoot in their direction again.

Serafina looked around for some wood to build a fire, but Harry just grinned at her.

“Your great-granddaughter taught me this trick!” Harry grinned, drawing his wand and conjuring a gout of emerald green flames, which filled the cave with warmth and cosy green light in an instant.

“I shall have to get her to show _me_ that one day,” Serafina smiled, sitting opposite Harry.

“So, you don’t think this rain is a coincidence?” Harry began, as steam rose from his sopping wet jeans.

“No, I believe The Shining Ones are trying to thwart our progress,” Serafina replied.

“But why?” Harry asked crossly. “Who are they? Or _what_?”

“They are one of the original Tribes of Creation,” Serafina explained. “They came to this world with Dust, and they taught science and architecture, art and magic and divination. Some are red-haired giants, others are made purely of light so bright that to look at one is impossible. Some are humans who have ascended to become members of the Tuatha De Danaan.

“And this is their home, a paradise. The basis of the mythical Eden, where all things begin and end. Every answer can be found here, but every question also.”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Harry frowned.

“It is not meant to,” Serafina smiled patiently. “And understanding can take all the ages of man. But because of the promise offered here, men have sought it for millennia. For riches and power, knowledge and enlightenment, and the secrets of existence itself. It is why the Tuatha shield themselves so completely.”

“Until this Magisterium thing found it?”

Serafina nodded. “You can surely see the heresy entrenched in such a place. There is no room in organised religion for the freedom of human thought and experience. Religion is a construct, one meant to divide and control. It does as equal bad as it does good. The Spectres brought the fallen Dust back to create them, using angels and prophets to give birth to repressive doctrines, punishing the greed and folly of man that _created_ Dark Matter.

“So The Magisterium wanted control of this place, so that _its_ ideas would not be challenged by an alternative way of thinking.”

“So … are the Tuatha _prisoners_ here?” Harry asked in astonishment. "Restrained by the power of the Church ... because Hermione told me that's what The Magisterium would be called in my world?"

“It is entirely possible, but there may also be warring factions that fight for both sides,” Serafina suggested. “We can only hope we find sympathetic ears first.”

“Then what about the rain? Is that their doing?”

“I believe so. The Shining Ones can control all things - birds, beasts and the environment. We may have to battle nature itself as we try to progress to our goal.”

“If that’s what I have to do, then so be it,” Harry sniffed, pulling his cold knees into his chest. “Hermione is worth it and she needs me. Or, should I say, your _great-granddaughter_ needs me. This is the weirdest thing. How did it feel to leave your baby behind? Did you miss him?”

“It broke my heart, equally as much as Separating from my dæmon. Watching him grow from my distant position was so painful, but these are the trials a witch often faces. I outlived him, you know. He aged and died, yet I would have seemed untouched by time if I had appeared to my former lover at the funeral.”

“That must be hard … living so long that you lose those that you love, over and over.”

“Which is why we love very rarely, even though we take many lovers in our lives,” Serafina replied mournfully.

“But you love Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Very much. Which I why I am here, to help her on her path to destiny.”

Harry stared hard at Serafina. “Hermione hasn’t told me very much about that. Only that she had to come here and help _me_ fulfil a great destiny. Does she know more about that than she’s telling me? Do _you_ know more?”

“We witches are very wise, and know a great many things,” Serafina replied, evasively. “All I can tell you is that a prophecy was made to the witches about _Lyra_ , telling us how important she was. Not just for the adventure she went on as a girl, but for her entire life. She is a special woman, too, and Hermione could not wish to have someone more capable in her corner … or to have made a better _best friend_.”

Harry blushed at that. “So … is Lyra’s fate tied into Hermione’s? Was it designed that they should meet?”

“Not _designed_ , but certainly _encouraged_ ,” Serafina smiled knowingly. “Hermione has a prophecy to fulfil with you, and meeting Lyra was probably the only way to bring you two together. The rest is up to her … up to you both.”

“And we cant know what it is?”

“You will work that out for yourselves. I believe you have already _started_ to understand.”

Serafina fixed Harry with such an arresting look that he couldn’t hold her gaze for more than a few seconds. His heart fluttered at the blatant suggestion in the witch’s expression. He had to change this evocative subject.

“So, we need a plan,” he stated bluntly. “We cant stay here forever.”

“We have to wait until this weather improves,” said Serafina, looking up at the black skies overhead. “You should rest. We will wait out this deluge and make a fresh start in the morning.”

Harry went to protest, but a yawn hit the back of his throat at an inopportune moment. He nodded slowly and curled up by the fire, as Serafina moved to the cave entrance to sit guard.

* * *

The break of day also brought with it a break in the weather. The incessant deluge had slowed to a gentle drizzle for, as Serafina Pekkala pointed out, even demi-gods couldn’t keep more water in the sky than it could hold. She and Harry trudged out of the cave into the pearl-pale morning light, picking their way carefully along the waterlogged path through the hills.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so _dirty_ ,” Harry moaned, as Serafina helped pull his foot from a particularly deep puddle of mud. “This is disgusting!”

“The Shining Ones are testing you, trying to see your limits of endurance,” the witch replied sagely. “Rain and mud are but the most basic of tools that they have at their disposal to force you to turn back.”

“Then you think things might get worse?” Harry asked with a cool shiver.

“I think we can almost guarantee it.”

Harry gulped hard at the thought. “Miss Pekkala … I’m sorry - _are_ you a ‘Miss’? What should I call you?”

“Serafina is my name. You may use that,” the witch smiled in reply.

“Okay, well, Serafina,” Harry continued. “If these _Shining Ones_ are so powerful, why don’t they just kill me? They are protecting all this knowledge, as you say, but I cant help but think that they are giving me a chance to find it. These are tests, rather than _attacks_.”

“How very astute of you,” said Serafina. “I can see why she likes you so. _Intelligence_ will always seek out itself in others, and clearly you are on her level in that regard.”

Harry blushed at the obvious reference to Hermione as Serafina went on.

“But yes, the Tuatha are giving you an opportunity to prove yourself. They guard their secrets covetously, but that does not mean that they wont reveal them to the worthy and the deserving. They simply protect them from those who aren’t, from those who would use them for devious means.

“I think they know why you are here. It is up to you now, Harry, to prove your righteousness to them.”

“I don’t know that I’m particularly _righteous_ ,” Harry murmured shyly.

“Are you here for your own purposes? Do you want to steal power and dominate people with it?”

“No! I want to save Hermione, that’s it.”

“Then you are righteous,” Serafina explained. “To conduct a noble, selfless act - simply because it is right to do so - is the very definition of righteousness. The Shining Ones are now merely seeing how far you will push yourself to see this task through.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Harry returned stoutly.

But that task suddenly became a great deal more difficult … and a whole lot _bigger_. For the Forest abruptly thinned, leading out onto a wide, sweeping plain that stretched far into the distance. Harry could see those waterfalls more clearly now, the sky blue glistening against the greens and yellows of the meadows that swept out away from them.

Though it was their immediate vicinity that was of greater concern. For this beautiful vista was pockmarked by massive holes. Harry and Serafina emerged into one of them, looking starkly up the sheer face of a trench easily ten-feet deep. Roots and vegetation had been torn up, and the rain had formed little pools into the five, abstract oblong gouges that poked out from the top of the larger depression that Harry and Serafina were standing in. She flew them out to stand on top of the ridge, and Harry saw that the pit roughly resembled a -

“A _footprint_!” Harry gasped. “A _giant’s_ footprint!”

He blinked in his astonishment as he looked out across the vast plain. The footprints moved away from them in an angular direction. The question was, where did the giant go? Or, as Serafina pointed out darkly, when was it coming _back_?

“We mustn’t linger,” Serafina warned. “Neither you nor I would provide much more than a snack for a giant, but I’m sure our bones would make for good toothpicks! Come on.”

Serafina hurried them along between the massive footprints. Several times they heard deep roars from the rolling hills to the right, and flung themselves down into one of the trenches to wait it out. Then the rains returned and threatened to drown them if they stayed hidden.

So they took off again, wading through ankle-deep water as the torrent battered at them. Harry wished he’d learned some sort of rain-repelling charm from all his library sessions with Hermione. That would have come in dead useful. His bones rattled again against the wind, which seemed to be able to seep in through the very pores in his skin. He shivered violently against the cold, which felt like it was coming from inside him. He hoped running would keep his muscles warm, but the water was dense and sludgey and their progress slow.

And then …

 _Boom … Boom … Boom_.

At first, Harry stupidly thought a cannon was firing at them. He ducked involuntarily, but no missile was forthcoming. His second idea was that they were being hit by an earthquake, that perhaps the Tuatha De Danaan would rather destroy their own land than give him their secrets. But then Harry saw the real reason behind the deafening sounds.

For the giant had finally returned … and he wasn’t alone.

“Harry! Look out!”

Serafina called to Harry just as a massive foot slammed into the ground near him. The impact was so great that Harry was actually thrown into the air by the force of it. He splashed back down into one of the huge footprints, which were now small ponds dotted about the landscape. Harry flapped his arms as he tried to get his balance in the water.

Then he felt a thrill of terror rush through him … for he realised that he didn’t know how to swim.

“Serafina Pekkala! Help me!”

But she couldn’t. Harry looked up to see that the thumping sounds weren’t simply being made by giant footsteps … but by giant _punches_ , where one giant was _thumping_ another as they fought for territory. The impacts were so ferocious that they were causing the air itself to wobble. Serafina had been clobbered by an errant elbow and was squirming gingerly close by, nursing a big bruise and a terrible headache.

Harry was mindless in his terror for the witch. She was helpless, vulnerable. The hulking giants were likely to step on her at any moment, squashing her into the mud or crushing her bones to smithereens. Harry scrambled to the edge of his pond, desperate to heave himself up to help her. He darted between the thick, tree-trunk sized legs pounding around him and hoped - to whoever might be listening - that he’d make it through this in one piece.

Then the heavens themselves split open.

Or, at least, that was how it seemed to Harry. An explosion of thunder tore the sky apart, causing even the giants to cover their ears and roar loudly at the pain. The sound hit Harry like a sonic boom, rattling his skull and making his ears ring like a bell. Dazed and disorientated, Harry managed to stagger across to Serafina and checked her pulse. She was alive, that was the main thing. Harry breathed in a sigh of relief.

Then he was blasted clear off his feet ... as a fierce bolt of lightening streaked down and decimated the sodden ground beneath him.

Harry was thrown back a good twelve feet. He landed in water again … and immediately began _floating away_! Panic and shock surged through him as he flailed his arms in a futile attempt to stay afloat. For the lumbering giants had flattened the land so much that many had joined together to form a large scar in the earth, one that the rain had turned into a raging river. One that was now carrying Harry away at speed.

“Serafina!”

But she couldn’t hear him. The rush of the rapids, the crashing thunder, those ferocious lightening strikes … the world seemed to be at war with itself. Hot tears poured from Harry’s eyes as the senseless fear overcame him a moment. He fell beneath the driving waters, emerging to splutter out throatfuls of muddy, gritty water. It was in his lungs, he could feel that through his laboured breathing. He was sucked beneath the powerful current again, falling deeper and deeper this time.

He was going to die. He knew it, almost as though it were the most certain thought of his short life. He wasn’t going to see his Mum and Dad ever again, and they’d never know what happened to him out here. He’d drown in one of these deep gorges, and the mud would bury him, and he’d never be found.

But, worse even than that, he’d fail _Hermione_. The Mandrakes that Professor Sprout was cultivating might wake her up, and she’d rise to a melted mind, trapped inside her body. She’d exist in a vegetative state, like Neville’s parents had, not knowing about what had happened to him, maybe not caring, as the basilisk had dissolved all memory of him from her brain. She wouldn’t be able to think of anything ever again.

Harry’s heart howled at the misery of the image. Hermione separated from her beautiful mind … it was the worst form of punishment for being his friend that Harry could have inflicted on her. And there was more than that. There were all the things he hadn’t said to her, all the cautious, shy things that he’d kept on the back of his tongue. About how he liked her the best of anyone he’d ever met, that time spent with her was never wasted no matter what they were doing, and how her coming across worlds to meet him was the best gift the world could ever have given him.

There were other things, too, but Harry hadn’t even told _himself_ those things yet, so he wasn’t about to tell Hermione them in his final moments, regardless of their separation.

Then he had another, more chilling thought … one he hadn’t considered before … _separation_.

It was a single word, but it coiled sickeningly in Harry’s gut.

For he had no idea what had happened to _Pap!_

In all his mindless worry over Hermione, Harry hadn’t considered what had happened to her dæmon! Had he been with her when she was attacked by the basilisk? Harry hadn’t seen him anywhere in that shadowy corridor. Then the answer flowed into his belly like a slithering serpent …

A basilisk only kills by a _direct stare_ …

Demelza had used a mirror … Colin and Lockhart a camera … Harry didn’t know the details of Sally-Anne’s Petrification, but he would have bet all the gold in Gringotts that it fitted the pattern. Harry had assumed that Hermione had been using her phone camera, but what if he was wrong. What if …

_Papageno had looked FOR her! … and the basilisk had dragged him down into the Chamber of Secrets!_

Harry felt a wave of senseless, angry energy course through him. If that was true, no-one would ever know! They’d never even be able to guess at Hermione’s true nature. Neville was sworn to secrecy, and he might not put the pieces together anyway. Only Harry would know, and the basilisk would be able to torture Hermione’s soul _through_ Pap as long as she lived!

Well, Harry wasn’t going to allow _that_ … _couldn’t_ allow it … not while he had strength left in his body and life throbbing in his pounding heart … and a _dæmon_ of his own to call on!

“Marici! I need you!”

Harry felt the soul-deep shock of forced Separation tear through every particle of his being. If he’d had any breath under all this water, he would have lost it in an instant. The pain was mind-numbing, as though all his bones had been ripped out through his flesh and replaced with sharp, stinging fire. He had no voice to whimper, no tears to shed against the murky rainwater, but the deep pulsing misery was all-consuming just the same.

And then … a pair of delicate jaws clamped onto the hood of his saturated raincoat and dragged him bodily from the depths.

Harry felt his head break the surface of the water like he was reaching heaven itself. He hungrily sucked in two or three lungfuls of wonderful air, spewing out dirty, muddy water as he came to life again. He kicked his legs hard, as his dæmon pulled him away from the surging water towards a shallower bit of ground nearby. Marici’s powerful lioness body coped easily with the driving waters, as though defying nature itself to stop her.

Harry soon found his footing against the mud. Coughing and spluttering still, Harry hugged tight to the huge animal at his side, feeling the deepest of love flow between them, as she licked at his eyes and brought him to his senses again. He’d lost his glasses in the flood and could barely see.

“Don’t worry,” Marici purred to him. “I can see well enough for us both.”

“Serafina? Can you spot her from where we are?” Harry breathed out.

“No, we’ve travelled too far away,” Marici replied. “I thought we were done. You are so brave … to force me out. I felt it … felt the _hurt_. I’ve never known pain like it.”

Harry tried to stand, but his knees were very unsteady. “Hermione did it for us … so I _had_ to do it for _her_. Forgive me, my love!”

Harry hugged into the thick mane of his dæmon, understanding innately why Hermione referred to Pap in much the same way he now thought of Marici. And that thought tautened Harry’s attention.

“We have to go on, we have to help Hermione and Papageno,” he declared as staunchly as he was able. “No-one else will know. We _have_ to succeed.”

“Can you walk?”

Harry nodded. “My legs are shaky as all hell, but I’m not going to let that stop me. Which way do we go?”

“We have to reach higher ground,” Marici advised. “Even water cant flow _uphill_.”

“Good idea,” Harry nodded. “There are hills over to the right. We _have_ to make it.”

So they set off. Harry had to jump onto Marici’s back to cross the speeding little river, but soon he was back to splashing through the waterlogged grasslands. Several times Marici had to drag Harry back before he fell into another footprint pool, and more times still Harry clung onto _her_ fur as the thunder and lightening raging above frightened him unexpectedly.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” Harry whispered, as another spear of lightening caused him to jump close to his fiercely protective dæmon.

“I was always with you,” Marici replied, softly. “We can do this, Harry. Have faith.”

They reached the foothills eventually. Harry was wetter than he thought he’d ever been, and the icy winds scorched against his thin skin. He huddled tight into himself and began scrambling up the loose mud of the hillside on all fours. The trees formed an effective umbrella against the storm, but the rocks and stones underfoot snagged Harry’s sleeves and pierced into his flesh.

But he kept going. He had to. He focused his mind onto Hermione, her statue-like form lying in the hospital wing, and onto Pap, helplessly at the mercy of the basilisk and whoever was controlling it. It drove Harry on, was the fuel as he plunged his fist into yet another loose patch of muddy grit and dragged himself an inch further onwards.

And then, just as they approached a rise in the hill, Harry pulled himself over the crest … and toppled down the sheer face on the other side.

Round and round Harry went, losing what little vision he had in a dizzied blur. He seemed to tumble for ages, and he wondered vaguely if he’d ever stop. But stop he did, colliding painfully with a tree stump and a dull sort of _thud_. Rubbing his scratched and flayed shoulders, Harry called out to his dæmon.

“Marici! Are you okay?”

“I’m here, Harry,” came the soft reply. “But … we’re not alone.”

Harry looked wildly around. There, on the other side of the tree stump, Harry could make out the silhouette of a figure ... a man, broad and powerful, but definitely human-shaped. Harry jumped up sharply.

“Stay back! Whoever you are!”

Harry backed close to Marici as the figure moved towards him. Then, something jutted out from it.

“I said _stay back_!” Harry shouted, angrily brandishing his wand in front of him.

But Marici butted her head gently against his elbow, urging his arm forward. “You are being offered something, Harry. You might want to take it.”

Harry frowned in suspicion, but this was his _dæmon_ , his very _soul_. He had to trust her. Tentatively, through his swimming vision, he reached out his hand … and felt the unmistakable frame of _glasses_ in his fingertips. He took them and jammed them onto his face. Perfect sight returned to him in an instant, and he saw a large, copper-haired man smiling at him.

“I believe these belong to you,” the man began, his voice a deep baritone. “Welcome, Harry Potter, to High Brasil. I am Cúchulainn, leader of the Tuatha De Danaan … and we have been expecting you.”


	19. The Hiss of Life

Harry took a while to process the words as he made his way around the little clearing. There was a sweeping, highly decorated, arc-shaped altar on the far side of the circular space behind Cúchulainn, and that wide tree-stump that Harry had collided with was in the dead centre. It, too, looked as if it were used for ritual. There was evidence of slight charring as if candles had burned down to their wicks, and remnants of flowers and berries that had been left as offerings or as part of elaborate spells.

"Why have you been expecting me?" Harry suddenly blurted out, wondering if _he_ was going to be part of some ritual, possibly as a sacrifice himself.

"We Tuatha are skilled at divination," Cúchulainn explained in that obscenely low voice. "We have seen your coming not just in a physical sense, but in terms of _time_ , also. And now ... here you are."

"If you knew I was coming, why didn't you try harder to stop me?"

Cúchulainn smiled at him. "Perhaps we wanted you to arrive. Perhaps we _needed_ you to."

"I don't understand that," Harry frowned. "All the weather, all the obstacles ... if you wanted me to get here, why not make it easier?"

"For there are others who would wish you _not_ to reach this place," Cúchulainn explained darkly. "And they are the ones who have attempted to hinder your progress."

"And where are we, exactly?" Harry asked, looking around again. "What is this place?"

"This is the Gateway ... and as far as _you_ can travel into High Brasil in your current form. To go _further_ , you would need to give your life in exchange for passage."

Harry swallowed hard. "Um ... this will do just nicely, then."

Cúchulainn laughed deeply. "Indeed. In any case, Harry Potter, it is not your time to die just yet. You have many important tasks to achieve in your life, goals that you will not attain if you are dead. And the first of those has brought you to me."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Saving Hermione is one of my destinies?"

"It is," Cúchulainn nodded. "For together you must defeat a great evil that pervades many worlds. Only united as one will you succeed."

"Tom Riddle," Harry scythed bitterly. "You're talking about him, aren't you?"

"That individual is but one player, one adversary you must face," Cúchulainn replied gravely. "He is a great rival to be sure, but do not imagine him the only one."

"Then who are the others?"

"Some are from this world, others from that world where your partner in this destiny originated," Cúchulainn explained. "But there are others in worlds you have yet to encounter ... as well as demons from within that you are too young to have yet been tested against."

"Do you mean the Spectres?" Harry asked. "They only attack adults, don't they? Is that what you're on about?"

"No, Harry Potter. These enemies do not have physical form and cannot be defeated by any craft you might understand. But defeated they must be, and you will need to stay true to _her_ in order to be victorious."

Harry scowled in his confusion, but he didn't have time to work out more riddles.

"Okay, I'll deal with that when I have to," Harry huffed. "But for now, I have to help Hermione however I can. If you have let me come this far in order to help _me_ , then will you please show me how?"

"What is it that you have come here to seek?" Cúchulainn asked.

"I don't know, exactly," Harry began. "I was told only that the way to save my friend could be found here. She was attacked by a great serpent - a basilisk - and Petrified by its Stare. None of our Potions or medicines can reverse the damage being done to her, but I'm hoping something here might. You have to help me, Mr Cúchulainn ... my friend will suffer a fate worse than death if I cant do anything for her."

"You care deeply for this girl, enough to risk your life in order to save hers?"

Harry nodded. "If I could take her place, I would. If I can learn something that would take the damage into myself, but that _she'd_ be alright, I would do it in a heartbeat. My mind is _rubbish_ compared to hers ... I probably wouldn't know the difference if I woke up one day to find it was broken.

"But Hermione ... her mind is extraordinary. It's beautiful, even. I don't know if it's the _most_ beautiful thing about her, and there's certainly much more to her than just her intelligence, but it's integral to who she is. And I _like_ who she is ... very, very much. I love it when she teaches me things, when she speaks so vivaciously about a subject that impassions her, that her whole face lights up with the fervour. I could just sit and watch for hours and be happier for it.

"And _she_ seems to like teaching me things, too. I would call it her favourite _hobby_ if that didn't sound so weird. And she just _loves_ when I remember things, like when I put something into an essay for extra credit that she might have forgotten. I've seen her sneak passages into her _own_ work when she thinks I'm not looking, just to get a higher mark. You should have seen her face when she found out I was named Best Student of the Year. She looked like she wanted to _kiss me_ , she was that proud of me.

"But I never got around to telling her how warm and happy that made _me_ , to have impressed her so much. There's so many times I could have, and so many similar things that I should have said. But I thought I had loads of time, when in fact it would have been the work of barely a moment for me to say those things to her. I suppose I was afraid to open my heart like that. I'd never felt the need to before."

Cúchulainn smiled warmly as Harry drew breath. "You ... using your mind to impress _her_ mind ... then hoping the response of her _heart_ would give you what _your_ heart wanted. The symmetry is almost _divinely designed_ , wouldn't you say, Harry Potter?"

Harry flushed scarlet. "I don't know about _that_!"

"Then perhaps you should focus on the _feeling_ half of this dynamic and defer the higher _thinking_ to your friend," Cúchulainn replied.

"I can live with that," Harry grinned shyly. "But I have to make sure her mind is intact so that I can. Is there a way? I was told about a book ... the Book of Dust. Can it help me?"

"Ah, you really did do the thing properly," Cúchulainn laughed. "And what were you told about the Book?"

"Not much, only that it would allow me to learn a counter spell that could save my friend," Harry confessed. "Is that right?"

"It can be done, but it does the Book of Dust a disservice," said Cúchulainn. "Come, let me show it to you."

Harry approached the altar and looked around. It was made of heavy, grey stone, the back part was carved in an intricate Celtic lattice pattern, and there was a raised, stone lectern at the heart of it. A huge tome lay open on the lectern, and markings and symbols rose on the centre pages before falling away, in a constant cycle of motion. It was a little dizzying to watch.

"This is the Book of Dust?" Harry asked reverently.

"It is."

"What's it doing? What are all those markings? They are vanishing before I have a chance to read them."

"The more precise question would be _what does it do_ ," Cúchulainn replied with a wry smile. "Can you guess?"

Harry scrunched up his brow. "I was told that it tells you things. But it seems to be forgetting them, too."

"You aren't wholly wrong," Cúchulainn began. "The Book of Dust is nothing, more or less, than the method by which Earthly beings access The Akashic Record. Do you know what that is?"

"The dragons - who told me about the Book and this place - mentioned it, but I have never heard of it before."

"The Akashic Record is the accumulated knowledge, memories and experience of the life of the _entire universe_ and everything in it _,_ " Cúchulainn explained in a whispered tone. "It is alternately known as the _collective unconscious_ ... a universal field of knowledge which has indescribable size and scope. Those who learn to tune into it can find the answers to any question or problem they are faced with.

"The early Druid mystics, wizards and wise men of the Tuatha De Danaan wrote this Book, with the help of beings they called The Shining Ones. It put the access to the Record in terms they could understand and interact with. Eventually, the tribe grew so wise they _became_ like The Shining Ones, and the fusion was complete."

Harry blinked in surprise. "So they _became_ beings made of Dust ... they became like _gods_?"

"Or did we merely _return_ to that state?" Cúchulainn asked shrewdly. "The stories tell us that Dust came to the Tuatha, but that the Tuatha ourselves gave rise to it. The paradox can be confusing. The most important part is that we became Enlightened by the experience. And we wished to enlighten all life in the same way, so that they could become Beings of Light, too."

"Become i _n-light-ened_ ," Harry breathed . "Literally become _made of light_!"

"Which should be the goal for us all," Cúchulainn nodded back.

"Is ... is _that_ what Hermione and I must do?" Harry muttered lowly. "Become Enlightened?"

"And bring light to the world as far as you can," came the reply. "And your many tasks and destinies will help you on your way to that end. But this Book is no short-cut to it. It will give you the answers you seek, but can impart neither wisdom nor sense. Those things you can find only through experience and emotional growth."

"But others _have_ sought it as a short-cut, I'm guessing?"

"Correct again. Which is why it is encoded in this way, so that only those truest of heart and mind can unlock its secrets. But a _true_ Adept will always find those answers by looking _inside_."

"An Adept?" Harry hushed, as a memory of a long-forgotten life popped to the surface of his brain. "Like in alchemy ... like with the _emerald tablet_!"

"Books, emerald tablets, Chinese divining sticks ... all trinkets to find easy answers," Cúchulainn replied, dismissively. "Your journey to Enlightenment, Harry Potter, will be a voyage internally as much as externally. Many have paused at such an abyss, pondered the difficultly of the crossing, and sought simpler solutions ... and gained lesser rewards. I urge you not to do so."

"The only reward I want is to bring my friend back to me healthy and well," Harry responded firmly. "That is all I want from the Book of Dust right now. So, can you help me use it?"

Cúchulainn smiled. "I can. What do you understand about serpent language?"

"Very little," Harry confessed. "But somehow I can understand it, though I have no clue how to speak it back."

"The Stare of the basilisk is a part of its language," Cúchulainn began. "In the same way that human sorcerers use wands and incantations, serpents use body language in addition to their own verbal capabilities."

"So the Stare _is_ like a spell!" Harry exclaimed. "Do flicks of a tail and hisses create certain effects, or something?"

"Precisely right. You are exceedingly bright in your own right, Harry Potter! Perhaps we have gotten this dynamic _backwards_!"

"No," Harry laughed. "Hermione is far cleverer than me. But I'm not _so_ hopeless on my own, you know! So ... do you think the basilisk was _trying_ to Petrify, or was it really trying to kill?"

"Who could say? Possibly _both?_ " Cúchulainn suggested. "Your friend is lucky to have not found out the hard way."

Harry gulped at that thought. "So how can I help her? If I can understand serpent language, can I learn the counter-spell?"

"Try not to think of this in terms of spells and magic that you might understand. You are _not_ a serpent, so you cannot create the same effects as one. What you _can_ do is issue pleas and instructions and - if you must - _commands_."

Harry blinked as he tried to absorb that. "So what are you saying ... _I_ cant reverse the effects of the Stare ... but if I take control of a basilisk I can order _it_ to?"

Cúchulainn nodded in confirmation, which caused Harry to swear to the high heavens.

"How am I supposed to do _that_!" he cried, incredulously. "I cant control a fifty-foot snake! What am I supposed to do? Guilt trip it, make it see the error of its ways?"

"Did you, or did you not, say that you would do whatever it took to help your friend?"

"Well, yeah, but this wasn't exactly what I had in mind!"

"Then what did you?"

"I don't know," Harry replied off-handedly. "I thought I'd learn a spell, say it to Hermione and she'd just wake up and everything would be alright."

"And how would that help _you_? What would _you_ learn from that?" asked Cúchulainn.

"This hasn't got anything to do with _me_!" Harry argued hotly. "I just want to help _her,_ don't you get that?"

"I do, but as you are one of the few people who is _able_ to help her, this is just as much about you as your friend. A spell may be able to save her body, even repair her mind ... but what about her _soul_?"

Harry felt a shiver tingle over his skin. "What do you mean?"

"A great darkness was sent to harm your friend," Cúchulainn continued. "It took the scent from her parents, crossed worlds via this portal, and sought her out in the same way you sought out the dragons. She evaded it, but it was only drawn to her because she has been _infused_ by that darkness. It acted like a magnet."

"The _diary_!" Harry gasped. "Then it _was_ her attacking the students! She opened the Chamber of Secrets!"

"No, Harry, the serpent tried to harm her and others were caught in the crossfire," Cúchulainn corrected. "We saw it all. But the fragment of darkness that crossed with the basilisk took control of your friend's mind. It resides there still, though it has been defeated by light and love. It was put there by Dark, serpentine magic ... and only by _using it_ will it be removed completely."

"Then ... _I_ have to learn that magic, so that I can drive it ... no, _order it_ ... out!" Harry murmured.

Cúchulainn nodded. "And _she_ must help you. She has the Mind, you have the Heart ... but you must leave your bodies behind if you are to save her."

"Our dæmons!" Harry hushed as he understood. " _They_ have to do this! They are essentially _internal_ ... so they can go places we cannot!"

"You are beginning to be Enlightened," Cúchulainn smiled. "Your dæmon will understand the things you do not ... the Book can only tell you what you are looking for. The answers, Harry Potter, have been inside you all along."

"Then what _am_ I looking for?" Harry asked, as much to the blank pages of the Book of Dust as the man standing next to him.

And the book _responded_.

Marici came close to Harry's side. She was so huge her head could have rested on the altar top. She read as the book displayed a series of strange markings that Harry couldn't decipher at all.

"Do you make any sense of that?" Harry asked his dæmon. "I hope so, because it's baffling me!"

"I think they are _sounds_ , Harry! Sounds _I_ have to make!" Marici replied. "Maybe as I'm more animal than you in those sorts of terms, I can understand it when you cant. It looks like a series of _hisses_."

"The command to wake someone the serpent has attacked," Cúchulainn nodded sagely. "In human tongues we would call it the _Hiss of Life_."

Harry turned to him. "The _Hiss_ of Life? And _Marici_ has to do this to Papageno somehow?"

"You must awaken Hermione's mind, but to revive her body while she is still in physical danger is a very great risk," Cúchulainn advised. "But her dæmon can help you prevent any further damage, and together you can turn your attention to the serpent ... and force _it_ to your will. Only then can you fully save your friend."

Harry nodded. He was ready to go, right now. He was restless in his urge to return to Hogwarts but wary of the return journey.

"I need to leave now," Harry stated bluntly. "There must be an easier way. Or a quicker one."

Cúchulainn curled his mouth into a grin. "Why do you need a quicker one? The way out is _right there_."

He nodded and Harry turned, astonished, to see that the sandy beach had replaced the rain-saturated plains. He blinked hard to take it in. Serafina was there, too, laying back against one of the palm trees. Harry turned back to Cúchulainn with a questioning look.

"Time and space are relative things to the Tuatha De Danaan," he explained cryptically.

Harry didn't even know how to begin to understand that. So he focused on what he could do. "Thank you for your help, Mr Cúchulainn. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

"We have only one task to ask of you," Cúchulainn replied. "Bring lightness to the world. Destroy evil where you find it, allow our influence to spread and Enlighten the world. There are Dark forces who seek to repress and restrict all. Even we cannot hope to triumph against them without help. I was a Champion in my time, Harry Potter ... you must be one in _yours_."

"I will," Harry vowed faithfully. He turned to his dæmon. "Come on, _Chi_ ... let's wake up one sleeping witch and get her to take us home to another!"

* * *

You couldn't Apparate in or out of Hogwarts. It said so in _Hogwarts: A History_ , which Harry had read at least a dozen times. But broomsticks and flying witches could easily breach the borders it seemed.

Or, at least, that was the conclusion Harry came to, as he led the party across the Irish Sea and North to the ancient castle. As Will took his boat back to the Muggle port, Sirius and Lyra took one broom, James and Harry perched on another, and Serafina Pekkala soared alongside them as they raced through the night towards Hogwarts. Harry tried not to laugh as his father sat in a sort of petrified trance, with Marici staring curiously into his face over Harry's shoulder from where she was sat in his lap.

Up over the boundary wall, around the Astronomy Tower and straight to the Hospital Wing, Harry led the group directly to Hermione's bedside. Sirius vanished the window as they entered, with James hurrying to pacify Madam Pomfrey before she caused a scene.

Harry raced right to Hermione's side once they had dismounted. Marici rounded the bed and stood on her hind legs to sniff at the statue-still girl.

"She's still alive, Harry! I can feel her breath on my nose!"

"I _know_!" Harry breathed in wonder. "I can _too_! Sort of. This is so weird!"

"We'll get used to it," Marici promised in a purr. Then she moved her great head near to Hermione's. "If I lick her face, do you think she'll mind?"

"Maybe not, but _I_ will!"

Harry gulped deep, mindlessly terrified of what it would feel like if his dæmon actually _touched_ Hermione. Or touched anyone, as a matter of fact. He felt Marici's external new nature as something tender and vulnerable, and a little fragile if he was honest. It was like a wound that hadn't fully closed just yet. He hadn't even let his father anywhere near her, and of course Lyra and Sirius knew to keep their distance. He wondered what his mother would think when she met the lioness that had lived inside her little boy?

"You mustn't touch. It isn't allowed," Harry told his dæmon, firmly.

"But you touch _Pap_ ..."

"Yeah, but that's different."

"Not really. I think I'd quite like Hermione to touch me. She smells soft."

"I think I might like it too, eventually," Harry agreed. "But she has to _want_ to before we let her. She knows about how taboo it is ... she has to be the one to make the first move. It's only right if we do it that way."

"And when she does, will we allow it?" asked Marici.

" _If_ she does, that will be just one of many things we have to decide," Harry whispered. "But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We have a big enough one to get over before any of _that_."

Just then the door to the Hospital Wing burst open and Neville came skidding inside.

"Harry! I really did see you flying around Gryffindor Tower! I thought I was having a stroke for a minute!" he exclaimed. Then his eyes popped wide as he saw Harry's dæmon peering down at Hermione. "Er, Harry ... why is there a huge _lion_ in here?"

" _Lioness_ , if you don't mind!" Marici volleyed back sassily.

"Harry! The lion is _talking to me_!" Neville whispered in a horrified voice.

Harry laughed at him. "Calm yourself, mate. Try to think of it as _me_ talking to you!"

Neville's jaw hit the floor. "This is your ... what do you call it ... your dæmon? How?"

"It's a long story, and I'll tell it to you one day," Harry promised. "But you tell me why you came rushing in here so fast."

"I saw you flying over," Neville replied. "And I had to come and tell you, I haven't seen Crookshanks since Hermione was attacked. One of the other boys was asking if I was going to feed it. I thought you should know as soon as you could."

"Nev ... I've only been gone a couple of days," Harry frowned.

"What? Harry ... it's been nearly _two months_ since we've seen you!" Neville told him bluntly. "It's all anyone's been talking about. They thought maybe _you'd_ attacked Hermione and done a runner, or gone after Dumbledore to punish _him_ for attacking her, because he's been trying to tell everyone he's responsible. Not that anyone believes him. Peeves even had a song about it ... something about you Marching off in March and being an April Fool. We're all waiting to see what he rhymes you with for May ..."

"Two months!" Harry echoed in astonishment. "That's impossible."

"Not so, Harry," said Serafina Pekkala as she came up behind him. "Time moves differently on High Brasil. Days there may seem like months here. It is one of the island's protections. Men who spend years trying to steal its treasures may find their world has greatly changed by the time they return, often with dire consequences."

"Wow," Harry hushed. "Glad we didn't drag it out then!"

"High Brasil?" Neville queried.

"Later," Harry replied. "For now, we have to find Crook - I mean, Papageno - as soon as possible. He may be in grave danger."

"Danger? From what?"

"I think he was taken into the Chamber of Secrets by Slytherin's monster," Harry disclosed. "I have to find that damned room _tonight_."

Neville grinned widely. "Then follow me. I'll show you the way!"

Harry gawked at him. "You _know_ where the Chamber is? How?"

"We've known where the entrance is for a few weeks," Neville explained. "Ginny Weasley told us."

Harry stopped dead and looked at Neville. "Ginny ... _what_? She's the one doing this?"

"No, but she accidentally found out about the entrance," Neville elaborated. "On Valentine's Day, she was so afraid that she'd run into you when her Valentine's Card was delivered, she hid in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She blockaded herself in one of the stalls ... and that's when she heard it."

"Heard _what_?"

"A sort of _hissing_ , she said. Then she could see the silhouette of the serpent under the stall door. It must have been on its way to attack Colin and Demelza and Hermione. Ginny was really upset about it. Demelza is her best friend and she thinks she could have done something to stop it.

"The toilet was thoroughly searched, but the entrance must be concealed by some form of magic as nobody could find anything unusual in there."

"I bet they couldn't!" Harry cried. "You need to speak Parseltongue to open it probably."

"Old Lockhart must be a Parselmouth then," Neville announced in surprise. "Because _he_ was the one who opened the Chamber to start with."

Harry shook his head in shock. " _Lockhart_? How do you know?"

"It's recorded in his diaries," Neville replied. "Oh, I haven't _told_ you that bit, have I? Old Lockie is in _so_ much trouble. We have a temporary Defence teacher, someone Dumbledore hired on a trial basis before he was suspended. Professor Lupin. He looks like he could use a few square meals and a new suit, but he's really good. His classes are at least as good as Dumbledore's."

"Neville, get to the point!"

"Oh, right. Anyway, he was tidying up Lockhart's crap and he came across the diaries. A little bit of revealing magic - I mean, he's trying to get the Defence Against The Dark Arts job, isn't he? - and he finds out that Lockhart has been putting ideas into the heads of all the girls here. Especially, and this will annoy you ... _Hermione_. But not just for himself. Lupin found a stream of conscious _energy_ flowing to Lockhart's diary from the direction of Ireland, and he was _re-directing_ that to Hermione."

Harry ground his jaw angrily. "How do you know that?"

"Because I heard Lupin and McGonagall discussing it when I was visiting Hermione. I thought you'd want someone to keep an eye on her while you were gone. So I visited her as often as I could ... read her our homework tasks and stuff, you know, to give her something to do while she was sleeping ..."

Harry felt a strong urge to hug Neville just then, but he refrained. "So what did they say, about this _stream of consciousness?"_

"They didn't know what it was, only that it was _still_ flowing to Hermione," Neville explained. "Whatever Lockhart was doing to her, obviously being taken out by the basilisk has put a stop to all that. But neither McGonagall nor Lupin could stop whatever it is that's connecting Hermione to Lockhart's diary and whatever _that_ is linked to."

"Lupin? Did you say _Lupin_?"

James and Sirius had come over, and it was the former who had blurted out this stunned question.

"Yeah, Professor Lupin," Neville confirmed. "He's just started as a teacher here."

"Remus! A teacher!" Sirius barked out deeply. "Oh we _have_ to tease him about _this_!"

"Tease?" Harry frowned. "Do you know him?"

"Know him!" James beamed. "Remus Lupin is our _brother_. Well, sort of. He is one of the Marauders ... the name a bunch of us gave to ourselves when were at school. Lily wont _believe_ this!"

"Neville, take him to us," Sirius demanded. "We need to know whatever he's been able to find out about the Chamber of Secrets ... and whatever all that other stuff was you were talking about."

"I'll come too," Lyra insisted. "Maybe I can dreg up some knowledge about Dust that might help."

"It's Voldemort," Harry muttered fiercely. "He's sending his consciousness through the Dust window on High Brasil and possessing Hermione. Will said he could communicate between worlds ... and the guy I met on High Brasil said Voldemort still resides in Hermione's mind. That must be how he's doing it."

"I'll just take you to Professor Lupin," Neville replied weakly. "This is all too much for my mind at this time of night."

"Yeah, do that," Harry nodded. "Serafina Pekkala, can you help me move Hermione? I want to get a head start on finding the Chamber entrance while the others bring this Lupin character to help."

"Okay, but Harry," James began seriously. "If you, by some miracle, manage to _open_ the Chamber of Secrets, no going _into_ it till we get there, clear?"

"You don't have to tell me twice," Harry swore faithfully. "The more of us fighting a giant serpent the better in my book!"

"And then what?" Neville asked. "What's the plan?"

"I find Hermione, then Marici gives her the Hiss of Life, which should undo the damage the Stare of the Basilisk did to her."

Neville started a moment. "I'm sorry ... but did you just say the _kiss of life?"_

"No, Nev, _hiss ..._ not _kiss_."

"Oh, right. I was going to say ... Hermione might prefer to be _conscious_ before you kiss her for the first time, Harry. That's only polite!"

"Shut up, Neville! Just go and get this Professor!"

So the two groups split up. Neville led James, Sirius and Lyra off in one direction, while Harry hurried through the dark corridors with Serafina carrying Hermione's stiff form in her arms. Her magic had made Hermione weightless and they made good progress, reaching the disused bathroom in less than five minutes.

Harry looked around. "What do you think, Chi ... are we looking for a buzzer? A bell? A door knocker shaped like Godzilla on a swing?"

"Harry, keep your head," Marici admonished. "We need to find a snake motif or something. Start looking."

So they did, scouring the walls and floor tiles, behind the mirrors and under the rim of the toilet seats. Harry went and stood by Hermione, who was propped up next to the sinks, and began to inspect the plugholes, but with no greater luck. Harry was just about to give in to his frustration when, as he leant against a tap and squeezed hard to offset his irritation, he felt an etching in the brass.

"Chi ... _look_!" Harry hissed. "This _must_ be it! Serafina ... what do you think?"

"It seems crude, but it certainly _resembles_ a serpent," the witch agreed. "If it had been drawn by someone with no artistic skill at all!"

"Do evil warlords take art classes?" Harry mused lightly. "We'll have to ask Professor Bobross. He's been art teacher here for about a thousand years by the look of him. If Tom Riddle took art here he might have taught him. I can just see Tom scowling as he painted his _happy little mandrakes_. What a weird image!"

"If this is the way in, how do we open it?" Marici pondered. "Can it be as easy as hissing _open_?"

"How would you do that?" Harry asked. "Do you speak snake?"

"No, but it was through _me_ that you were able to talk to the dragons," Marici explained. "That part of me that was in _you_ connected to the natural energy of the world ... and we communicated. I made us _feel_ like a dragon, if you like. All I have to do now is try to pretend I'm a snake ... and tell this Chamber to _open_ ..."

Marici's voice suddenly became like the hiss of a boiling kettle. Harry wouldn't have understood it if he hadn't been able to confidently guess her last word, but that was the least of his worries. For as Marici hissed out the command, the tap and sink fell rapidly into the floor, creating a shaft that was broad and deep.

So broad, in fact, that Hermione and Marici were sucked down into the void.

And Harry screamed as if burned by hot acid. Marici had fallen quickly and was pulling at their raw human-dæmon cord. Harry couldn't stand the pain ... it was worse than anything he'd ever felt. He gave an apologetic look to Serafina, breathless and unable to speak through his agony ... then tumbled into the giant hole after his dæmon.


	20. The Chamber of Secrets

It wasn't as deep as Harry had thought, but the entrance sealed up the moment he was through. A few seconds of falling through darkness later and Harry hit the ground with a crack and an ungraceful _thud_.

"Oof!" Harry groaned. He coughed up a mouthful of blood.

"Stay still. You've cracked a rib," Marici mumbled as she ambled over and butted her head against him. "Are you alright?"

"I had to come ... I couldn't stand the pain," Harry confessed. "It was like my very _heart_ was being torn out by sharp thorns."

"I know ... I felt the same," Marici whimpered.

"But I thought, when you came out of me, we had Separated," Harry winced, as a spike of pain cut to him from his injured chest. "It certainly hurt enough."

"Forcing me out must have simply uncoiled our cord, painfully so, but we are still attached," Marici mused. "The pain would have been the same sort for Hermione and Pap ... when they... they ..."

"... when they tore their cord apart!" Harry breathed, understanding the full horror of the sacrifice for the first time. "She - they - went through all that ... for _us,_ Chi! How am I supposed to ever say _thank you_ for that? It hardly seems enough. But Hermione ... is she okay?"

"Yes, she landed on something soft," Marici replied. "I was just about to see what it was ..."

"Get down!" Harry yelled loudly.

For as they were speaking, a sharp-forked tail had lashed out them. Hermione must have _landed_ on the basilisk! The _sleeping_ basilisk ... which she had now roused to fighting form. Harry could see her still motionless body face down but safe behind a hefty pillar.

That allowed Harry a better look around the Chamber of Secrets. It had the feel of an ancient ritual space, with columns and altars and rows of stone pews for worship ... probably of this King of Serpents. Dull green light suffused the place from a source Harry couldn't make out. It might have been woven into the fabric of the stonework itself. There were no windows, the cavernous roof disappeared into dark mist high above, and there was a sweet, rotting smell about the entire place.

Then Harry saw the High Altar down at the far end ... and the fluffy ginger cat lying prostrate there.

"Pap!" Harry shrieked out in terror.

But the dæmon didn't move. He appeared to be as comatose as his human.

"I have to get to him, Marici!" Harry cried out, as the basilisk smashed its tail against the pillar he was shielding behind.

"It's too dangerous, Harry!" Marici called back. "You'll be smashed to pieces! We need to take control of the basilisk!"

"But to do _that_ ... you'd need to wrestle control from _me_!"

Harry froze in the ensuing silence. All he could hear was the hulking slide of the giant serpent ... and the ethereal wizard who had all the power over it.

" _Voldemort_!" Harry hissed to his dæmon. "He's here!"

"How?" Marici whispered back. "He has no body!"

"Here, in this ... the Chamber of my ancestors - my spirit finds a powerful form," Voldemort called back to them in his cold, callous voice. "And as faithful Lockhart has been channelling the energy of most of this castle to me for a year I have an almost complete _physical_ presence, too. Observe."

Harry peered out from behind the pillar ... and cursed in his anger at what he saw.

For Tom Riddle was _touching_ Papageno!

Marici roared and jumped to block Harry's path as he made to dart out. Harry screamed in mindless panic and pushed hard to move her, but she held firm. He just had to reach Pap ... had to stop that crushing, dirty pressure Voldemort was pressing upon the poor, helpless dæmon. He had to stop that contact if it cost him his life.

"Marici! Help me!" Harry moaned. "This is hurting me as if he was touching _you_!"

"I know! But we cant get to _him_. Harry ... go to Hermione. Maybe Neville was right ... you need to keep her alive with a kiss of life!"

Harry was up in flash. He dived to Hermione as the basilisk tried to strike again, but Marici roared and drew its attention, leading it away to another part of the Chamber. Harry turned Hermione over and cradled her in his lap. Her breathing was shallow and faint and Harry understood what was happening ...

Voldemort was trying to squash the very life out of her ... by squashing Pap on the altar!

"Marici! You have to get to Pap! Voldemort is killing him! I'll fight the serpent."

Harry's dæmon agreed with another fierce roar. Closing his eyes tight, Harry darted out from behind the pillar and moved forward on instinct. He couldn't see, so he'd have to fight blind, be like a dragon. Harry took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind, as he'd done when first in the cave. And, somehow, he _knew_ where the basilisk was.

Then Voldemort stupidly gave him a helping hand.

 _"Forget the lion,"_ he hissed. " _Go left, kill the boy!"_

So, the serpent was to his _right_ , then? Harry immediately raced off to his left, hearing the lumbering basilisk take off in pursuit. He had to make the way clear, allow Marici a chance to reach Pap. Voldemort wasn't at full strength, he cant have had a wand. And a lioness would best an unarmed wizard in _any_ sort of duel.

"Here I am! Come and get me!" Harry tried to taunt. He stumbled over some rubble on the floor, picked it up and launched it in the general direction of the hulking beast. He heard the impact, but the serpent was unharmed and kept on coming.

"Duck, Harry!" Marici suddenly cried out.

So Harry obeyed, throwing himself to the floor before being showered by shards of stone and mortar, as the top of one of the pillars was smashed by the serpent's tail. Harry leapt up and darted on randomly through the darkness. This was hopeless, he'd never help Hermione like this.

But he wasn't alone. "Harry - brace yourself! This is going to hurt us both."

Marici's words hung in the air for a moment, then Harry turned and actually _vomited,_ as the hated flesh of Tom Riddle came into contact with the fur of his dæmon.

For Marici had smashed right into Riddle's spectral body and drove him forcefully away from Papageno. A moment later and Marici had carefully taken Pap by the nape of his neck, and bounded back across to Hermione with the cat safely in her strong jaws.

"Harry! I've got him! But you need to get back here ... Hermione has stopped breathing!"

Harry snapped his eyes open in utter terror. Luckily for him, the basilisk was facing away from him, seemingly confused at all the screaming voices. Then Harry had an idea. In a move stupider than jumping on the back of a twelve-foot troll, Harry leapt onto the tail of the basilisk and shimmied his way up its neck. Either it was very stupid, or Harry so light that it didn't feel him there, but the giant serpent didn't react at all.

That was until Harry took out his wand and _stabbed_ it repeatedly in both eyes.

The beast exploded in angry sound, thrashing around in agony and launching Harry from his neck. Harry cracked another rib on impact with the floor, but had the good sense to roll behind a stone pew for cover against the basilisk, who was slamming wildly around the Chamber, blood streaming from its useless main weapon.

"Harry! Hurry!"

Harry looked up. He was loosely aware of Voldemort calling the basilisk back to him, and he wondered if the evil sorcerer would somehow be able to fix his lethal pet. But Harry, semi-delirious with his pain, hauled himself up and fell at Hermione's side.

"She isn't breathing, Harry," Marici whimpered, feeling Harry's injuries as her own. "And Pap is so weak. I don't know what to do!"

"Y-yes you do!" Harry grimaced. "You have to do what the Book of Dust told you to. And I have to do what Neville told _me_ to do. On three ... we do it together."

There was only one thing for it. Filling his lungs with as much air as they could hold, Harry knelt down and pursed Hermione's lips open, trying not to hitch his mind on how soft they were. Trembling frightfully at the lack of air coming back at him, Harry pressed his lips to Hermione's and blew deeply into her lungs. As first kisses went, it wasn't one for the romance purists.

But _Hermione_ didn't seem to mind ...

Harry suddenly felt gentle pressure against his own lips, as Marici continued to hiss close to Pap next to him. Harry snapped away from Hermione in an instant, looking deeply into her face. Her eyes were still closed, but her fingers were twitching and she was breathing softly. There was a small smile clinging to the corners of her mouth, too.

"That was nice ... but Harry, I didn't know you _cared_!"

Harry laughed at Hermione's teasing voice as she slowly opened her eyes and grinned up at him. Momentarily forgetting his broken ribs, he threw himself atop her and hugged her close.

"You're awake! You're alive!" He breathed into her hair, drinking in her scent. "I thought I'd lost you!"

"Lost me? But why?" Hermione whispered back with a wobble in her voice. "Er ... Harry? Where are we?"

Harry pulled himself up again. "We are in the Chamber of Secrets, Hermione. Riddle and his basilisk are here, too. We aren't doing too well against them! They've smashed my ribs and Marici had to _touch_ Voldemort. I need to shower to get _that_ stain off."

Hermione shot up in a flash. She was white with shock. "The Chamber of Secrets? At Hogwarts?"

"Do we know any others?" Harry quirked.

"No, but how did I get back to Hogwarts?" Hermione demanded shrilly. "I was only just taken home by Lyra ... after Dumbledore suspended me."

Harry blinked at her. "That ... that's the _last thing you remember_?" he breathed lowly. "You don't remember anything else? You don't remember Christmas?"

"Christmas! No! Did I miss anything?"

Harry's heart sank as he thought about his lonely mobile phone in his dorm, and the one-sided messages that only he would now remember exchanging.

"Harry ... _when_ are we?" Hermione asked desperately.

"It's _May_ , Hermione," Harry told her softly. "The basilisk attacked you on Val ... in _February._ You've been Petrified ever since. The Stare must have eroded your short-term memory."

 _"What!?_ But that's _five months,_ Harry!"

"I know, and I'll explain how we got to this point," Harry replied. "But we need to find a way out of this, or we might be dead in five minutes!"

"Okay, okay," Hermione breathed to master herself. "What's the situation?"

"Voldemort was possessing you using a Dust Stream from your world," Harry began plainly. He waited for Hermione's angry gasp to subside before continuing. " _My_ dæmon is now corporeal, but we are facing a version of Riddle powered by energy Lockhart stole from all the girls at Hogwarts. He also has control of a basilisk, but I blinded it with my wand."

" _What!_ " Hermione shrieked in horror. "How? On second thoughts, tell me later. I haven't got time to tell you off right now. So ... why did you _kiss_ me? Just lost in the moment or what?"

Hermione's nervous laugh might have been a prelude to more kisses in a sensible world, but this was Harry Potter and he cursed his own atrocious timing.

"I went to find out how to control the basilisk, and I was told a counter spell in Parseltongue, which Marici performed on Pap," Harry explained. "That healed your mind. But ... er ... Voldemort _touched_ Pap ... tried to squash the life out of him. Out of _both_ of you. You weren't breathing ... so I ... sort of ... _had to_. You know, do the Kiss of Life on you."

"Well, it was a nice kiss," Hermione blushed furiously. "Kiss of Life, I mean. I liked being saved by it!"

Harry laughed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "But now we're stuck. Not only that, but Tom Riddle still has a connection to _you_. He established it using the dream diary, but it's still active. I don't know how to break it ... but I think, if we could, it might weaken him enough to send him packing."

"We need to take control of the serpent, Harry, use it against Voldemort," Marici whispered, coming up close, but keeping a shy distance from Hermione, who noticed and cocked her head curiously at the act. "The basilisk was sent by Riddle from Hermione's world. It sought her out, drew her energy first, and established an anchor here in whatever form Riddle is taking over there."

"And if we can destroy that abomination," Papageno added, slinking up on unsteady paws. "Then it will shatter that foundation and sever the link to Hermione. They are feeding from each other - Hermione is keeping him grounded and powerful and it is now _that_ form of Riddle that is still connected to her. Destroy it ... and free us, Harry."

"I would ... if I knew _how_!" Harry moaned.

"You _do_ ," Pap cajoled. "Trust your _heart_ , Harry."

Then Pap took Harry's breath away ... by brushing his head softly against _Marici's_. The great lioness fell into a sitting position and returned the intimate contact with closed eyes and a deep, rolling purr. Harry felt hot all over. He looked to Hermione, whose chest was heaving as her bright eyes blinked in shock. She didn't know how to be, or where to look. She, clearly, was just as shaken by this contact between their dæmons as he was.

But Harry suddenly found he was clear of thought. And, ironically, he didn't have to _think_ ... just _do_. That was his role in his dynamic.

So he stood and strode out, taking a position at the very centre of the Chamber of Secrets. Lord Voldemort saw him ... and ordered the basilisk to strike. Harry saw it coming, waited until it was three feet away, then looked up at the huge beast and said in a clear voice -

" _Stop, my beauty."_

And the great serpent fell docile at his feet with a deafening thud.

"Up! Get up! Kill him!" Voldemort screamed.

"No, he will not," Harry replied calmly. "You are but half a man, Voldemort. Powered by stolen dreams and dark forces. Whereas _I_ am powered by _Light_. Capital 'L' _,_ in case you missed that. And I will heal this magnificent creature, keep it safe if he'll allow me. I wont let him be dominated or repressed by _anyone_. So long as he does one favour for _me_."

The wounded basilisk raised his broken eyes and directed them at Harry. He felt a surge of guilt at having caused this creature such pain, but they were _both_ victims of the evil of Tom Riddle. Harry would make amends.

"Kill _him_ ... and then I will look after you. _"_

Harry hissed the words softly, framing it almost as a question. The basilisk rose up to his full height, which was considerable, and lunged at Voldemort. He shrieked and cursed and tried to escape ... but he was held fast.

For Hermione had snuck up behind him and grabbed him in both hands. Voldemort in this form was all energy and very little mass. His physical strength had not yet taken form, so Hermione held him easily in place. The great serpent surged forward ... snapped his jaws at Voldemort ... and bit and bit until the spectral form of Tom Riddle dissipated away like parchment curling up on a roaring fire.

But the flesh of Voldemort, such as it was, could not only be _held_ easily ... but _pierced_ easily, too ...

"Ouch!" Hermione yelped, as one of the rapier-sized fangs bit through the last of Tom Riddle's form and cut right into Hermione's hand where she was still holding him. "H-harry ..."

Hermione fell to the floor as the poison of the fang sped through her veins. Harry raced over to her, clutching her wounded palm in both his own.

"Hermione ... no ... _no,"_ Harry cried lowly. "Stay with me ... stay with me ..."

"It's the v-venom, Harry," Hermione whispered. Her voice was _tiny._ "I can feel it spreading ... and I'm so cold ..."

"I'll go and get help," Harry mumbled. "I wont be long -"

"No, Harry, no time," Hermione breathed. She was _very_ pale. "Stay with me. Hold me. I'm so _cold_ , Harry. And I don't want to be on my own at the ... at the ... at the end. Stay with me."

" _No!"_ Harry mewled pitifully. "You cant die!"

Hot tears sped to Harry's eyes, rolling swiftly down his cheeks. He couldn't see through them.

"It'll be okay, Harry," Hermione soothed. "You're a great wizard. You really are. You'll be okay. You'll fulfil your destiny, I just know it."

"I cant! Not without you!" Harry sobbed. "You _are_ my destiny! We're supposed to do this together, whatever it is! You cant leave me!"

"You're _crying_ on me!" Hermione whispered, sounding surprised. "I can feel it in my cut! It doesn't hurt anymore, nothing does. I'm not in any pain now, so it's okay, Harry ... you can let me go ..."

"I wont, I wont!" Harry wept. "Not ever! I've got a million things still to tell you ... about how I feel about you ... you're my best ... the best ... I think I ... I ..."

Hermione let out a long, satisfied breath and Harry howled as he knew it was her last.

He threw down her arm and hugged her as tightly as he possibly could. His head was wrapped so far around her shoulders it was practically resting at the top of her spine. Their necks were pressed tight together, skin-on-skin ... and Harry couldn't understand how warm Hermione still was. After at least three minutes she still wasn't turning cold.

Not only that ... but her _pulse_ was still throbbing away in her neck, hammering hard against his own.

Harry pulled back cautiously and looked at Hermione. Her eyes were still closed and she was smiling broadly. But then, in dubious surprise, Hermione slowly opened one eye.

"Harry ... am I dead?" she asked.

Harry cocked his head at her. "You don't _seem_ dead. You're talking to me, aren't you?"

"I am," Hermione agreed with a nod. "But _how_? The basilisk bit me! Not on purpose, but it happened. Though I'm not dead. I don't understand."

"Chi?" Harry asked to his dæmon. "Did _you_ do something?"

"It wasn't me, Harry," Marici replied. "But _Pap_ has a theory. He really is the brightest dæmonof his age, I think."

"Pap?" Hermione asked. "What happened?"

Papageno crept close to Harry and - with impropriety that would have shocked every soul in Hermione's former world - the fluffy cat stood on all fours, placed his paws either side of Harry's shoulders, and _licked_ the salty tracks of his tears from his moist cheeks.

"You _cried_ on Hermione," Pap explained. "But your tears are not _ordinary_ tears ... not where Hermione is concerned."

"Ahh!" Hermione hushed, understanding suddenly. "Our _phoenix_ connection! Harry's _tears_ can heal me!"

"And yours him, of course," Marici explained.

"Yes," Pap laughed. "If you just fancy doing a bit of crying, Hermione, you might be able to fix Harry's broken ribs!"

"No!" Harry yelped. "I don't want to see you upset!"

Hermione laughed and pulled Harry close. She reached up shyly and brushed the last teardrop from Harry's cheek with the pad of her thumb.

"Not all tears have to be _sad ones_ , Harry."

Then she hugged her head tight to Harry's injured ribcage. Pap, on instinct, moved back to Marici and resumed his brazen rubbing against the lioness's face. Harry didn't need to wonder at the effect, for _he_ felt the euphoric joy of the contact, too.

But it seemed to overwhelm Hermione. Harry heard her laugh-like whimper, saw her shoulders rise and fall as she began to weep in joy ... and her tears flowed onto Harry's t-shirt, soaked through to his skin and healed his cracked bones in a flash of heat.

"That tickles," Harry teased as the last of his pain ebbed away.

Hermione sat back up and dried her eyes. "We'll have to remember that one! Crying ourselves better!"

"You knew," Harry mused good-naturedly. "You knew that our phoenix connection went beyond wands. When I was in the Hospital Wing that time. You knew then."

"I only guessed, Harry," Hermione replied, colouring slightly. "But good thing I was right, eh?"

"Very good," Harry grinned. "So ... what now?"

"We have to find a way out," Hermione advised. "But now you speak basilisk _and_ dragon that should be a doddle for you. As for _me_ , well, I have five months of homework to catch up on! Do you think I'll still be suspended after this?"

Harry laughed and leaned back on his elbows. "You just helped save the school ... _again_. I'm sure they'll let you off after _that!_ "

"And ... did I miss anything else?" Hermione asked carefully. "You gave me the impression that I did."

Harry looked pointedly at anywhere but Hermione. He knew she was staring earnestly at _him,_ for Marici was looking at Hermione where he could not, and then letting him know that she was. But Harry couldn't explain the monumental changes of the Christmas holiday, at least not in any sorts of words he knew how to speak to her face.

Harry took a deep, resigned sigh. "No ... nothing important. Apart from finding out my Mum and Dad are having another baby. That was pretty big."

" _What ...!_ "

* * *

The last few weeks of the school year flew by in a blur of questions, revision and unexpected exams. Harry and Hermione, and all other students attacked by the basilisk, were allowed to sit special papers that took into account a reduced school year, leading some students to moan that they wished _they'd_ been Petrified, too.

Harry, who had just skipped off to a mystical land and was _not_ Petrified, managed to steal a few of the complete exams, and he and Hermione sat them for fun during lunchtimes in the library. They then coaxed Harry's Dad's old friend, Remus Lupin, to mark them as a favour to Harry's Mum, who Lupin had been very close to during their school years.

Hermione beat Harry in six tests, Harry beat her in five, and they agreed that was a fair battle and called a truce till _next_ year, when they'd up the stakes and place some sort of bet on who would come out on top academically, not that they could decide on the terms just yet.

There was also the drama of Gilderoy Lockhart being carted off to Azkaban for numerous violations against the girls and women of magical Britain once he was revived, though reinstated headmaster Albus Dumbledore thought they were all far too young and innocent to know the full details of that until Lockhart was formally prosecuted, which promised to be a lengthy process.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, they were packing up to go home. Harry and Marici, who spent all her time under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, waited until the last minute to gather up their things. Neville dragged the other Top Dorm boys out for a game of two-on-two, End-Of-Term Quidditch to allow Harry and his dæmon some free time to pack in peace.

"That was good of Nev," Marici commented, as Harry folded his robes and slung them haphazardly into his trunk. "He's a good friend."

"My best, apart from Hermione," Harry agreed, squashing his pointed hat until it looked like a little, black frisbee.

"You should tell her how you feel, Harry, before we part for the Summer," Marici suggested. "I'm sure she'd like to hear it."

Harry dropped his head and closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he moved to look out of the window and down towards the Quidditch pitch.

"I _cant_ , Chi," Harry muttered. "We said so _much_ ... but she doesn't remember any of it. She might not feel like that anymore."

"Of course she does," the lion soothed, trotting up and brushing her lush fur against Harry's fingers. "Pap and I ... we shared an understanding down in the Chamber of Secrets. You and Hermione need to come to one, too ... in your own way. It will just take a bit of bravery from one of you, that's all."

"It's not just that," Harry replied, smoothing Marici's mane. "I _know_ there's something she hasn't told me ... about why she came here to meet me. This _destiny_ of ours. And she must have a good reason for not telling me. I trust her more than anyone, Chi ... she'd tell me what it was, if she could. I know that. But she's holding it back, maybe trying to protect me with the secrecy. It's what she does ... looks out for me so diligently. I don't deserve it."

"Of course you do," Marici cooed. "Hermione and Pap think so, especially if they are still keeping this from us. You need to give yourself more credit, Harry."

"Maybe. But till then, I'll let Hermione lead my way," Harry replied. "She says that's what she has to do ... and I'm happy to let her."

"Let her ... _letter_ ," Marici hushed suddenly. "Harry ... you never read her Valentines Card."

Harry gulped hard and span around. "No ... no I didn't. Where is it?"

"Beside cabinet, top drawer, hidden inside _Hogwarts: A History."_

Harry grinned and hurried to his bed. He pulled the bright pink envelope from the drawer and into his lap, opening it with far less care than it deserved. But he was just that keen to get to the contents and to hell with the packaging.

There was a substantial amount of text in the card, so much so that Hermione had charmed a roll of parchment to unfold as soon as Harry opened it. Not only that, but a swirly _form_ of Hermione suddenly rose from a pool of what Harry initially thought was spilled ink on the card.

Then the facsimile of Hermione began to _talk_.

" _Dont be alarmed, Harry, on receiving this Valentine, that it should contain anything soppy or embarrassing from me. Don't be alarmed, either, at this odd image you should be seeing. I stole the idea from the Pensieve I've been using to keep up with all my classes. But, just in case I haven't done the spell right, I've written everything I want to say on the parchment. Sorry if it's a bit long!_

_"This probably isn't going to be like the hundreds of other cards you're bound to get today, Harry. Pap fancies himself as a bit of a poet, and thinks I should tell you that your eyes are 'as green as a freshly-pickled toad'... but I'm not even sure that's a compliment! You do have VERY green eyes though, I will say that!_

_"Despite all that, there ARE some things that I do want to tell you, Harry. And if I cant do them today, on Valentines day, when everyone is allowed to show some affection, then when can I do it?_ _So here goes ..."_

_"You're not just my best friend, Harry ... you're also the best person I've ever known. Ever. Two years ago, I ran into Lyra in the gardens of Jordan College in my world. I was there to decide the direction of my future ... a future I pretty much already had mapped out. But then I met Lyra ... she told me about YOU ... and all that changed in a single afternoon._

_"And I just want you to know, Harry Potter, that I wouldn't change it back. Not for anything._

_"I know I said I wouldn't be soppy, but I have to be a little bit. Coming to this world and meeting you has not only been a great adventure, but the best decision of my life. I left behind my parents and a world I knew. I suffered through the pain of Separation from Papageno, but we recovered. And now we both agree ... we'd happily do it again because we know we'd meet you at the end of it._

_"What I'm trying to say, Harry - and not at all eloquently - is that you are the best thing to ever happen to me._

_"I don't regret a single moment spent with you, and I hope you feel the same about time spent with me. You seem to, but I hope I'm a good enough best friend for you. For you so deserve the best one you can get. And I can be that, Harry ... and so much more. I can only hope you keep me around long enough to prove it!_

_"I have to finish now, Harry, before I end up crying and smudging all this writing! I just wanted to tell you on this day, the day of gaudy outpourings of affection, just how much you mean to me. You are the most important person in my life (ssh, don't tell Pap lol!) and I am lucky to be your friend._

_"Have a great day. All my love, your Hermione xxx."_

Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat and brushed hastily at his eyes. Marici turned away and preened herself modestly, while Harry struggled to compose his speeding heart and ragged breathing. He folded the letter, unfolded and read it again - twice - before finally placing it back in the envelope and stowing it carefully in his trunk. One thing was for certain ... he'd be reading that letter a _lot_ this Summer ..."

* * *

Harry was still thinking about the letter when he and Hermione left the Hogwarts Express at Kings Cross. He had spoken the fewest words on one of the train rides ever ... preferring to watch as Hermione and Neville played Exploding Snap and Famous Wizards Top Trumps to while the hours away. He tried not to stare at Hermione _too_ much, but she had twisted her hair into an elegant bun and looked especially pretty, making this a very hard edict to stick to.

Not that it mattered. The cute way that Hermione smiled and blushed every time she caught Harry staring - which reached double figures by the time they arrived in London - told him that he was free to look, even if Hermione hadn't given him outright permission to.

But then the commotion on the station gave them both _new_ cause for thought.

For as soon as they disembarked they were being buffeted towards the Platform Barrier. Once there, Harry was hugged briefly by his father and then passed on to his mother ... and the _pushchair_ she was wheeling.

"Harry ... meet your little sister, Seren Amanda Potter," Lily smiled down warmly. "Hermione? Would you like to come and say hello, too?"

"Ooh, can I?" Hermione asked shyly, before hurrying over and swooning over the sleeping baby in the pushchair. "Oh ... she's so _gorgeous_ , Mrs Potter!"

"Thank you, Hermione!" Lily beamed. "Now, Harry ... stand still while I transfigure your clothes."

"What? Why?"

"Oh .. and take _these,_ " James added.

He thrust a little box into Harry's hand as Lily flicked her wand. His jacket and jeans were instantly replaced by a smart, teenaged-sized tuxedo. Harry frowned at his new get-up and opened the box.

"Dad ... why have you given me a box of _rings_?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Because ... Sirius wanted you to be Ring Bearer," James grinned. "Oh, I almost forgot."

Then he flicked his own wand and Hermione's blouse and leggings became a posh white dress.

"What is this?" Hermione giggled, pulling at the frill on her neckline.

"I know, it's not _my_ taste, either," Lily laughed. "But you look the part, at least."

"Part? What part?" Hermione asked.

"Why, _Maid of Honour_ , of course," Lily smiled. "At Sirius and Lyra's _wedding_. Which we are already late for. Have you ever Apparated before, Hermione?"

"No ... but I've heard it's beastly," Hermione frowned. "Though I'll try it on one condition."

"What's that?" asked James.

Hermione blushed, then stood next to Harry and took his hand.

"That the Ring Bearer gives me the first dance of the evening," Hermione whispered, beaming at Harry.

Lily swooned at them both. "Well, Harry?"

"You may have that dance, Maid of Honour," Harry grinned. "But only if you accept a going away present from me."

Then Harry reached into his pocket and took out a brand-new mobile phone. He handed it to Hermione.

"It's Muggle technology," Harry explained, as Hermione turned the shiny handset in her fingers. "We can keep in touch this Summer, send messages and pictures and all sorts. There are funny acronyms too ... I'll send you a list of the ones I know."

Hermione looked oddly at Harry a moment ... as though remembering a distant dream. She wanted to say something important, but she couldn't for the life of her think what it was.

But she was sure, somehow, that she'd _already_ said it.

"Thank you, Harry. This is really thoughtful."

Harry nodded shyly. "Now ... do me a favour ... and Google ' _How To Dance At A Wedding'_... because I haven't got the first clue how!"

_**The End** _


End file.
